“You worry too much about things ‘ruining your life….’”

Willow knew her grandmother was referring to more than her amnesia-related recognition problem. She’d always thought Willow had overdramatized the humiliating incident that had turned her parents against her and changed the course of her life, that she’d been too quick to thrust all the blame on Cal Chandler. Okay, so it wasn’t all his fault. No one had forced her to sleep with Cal. She’d just loved him so fiercely, and she’d been so afraid of losing him. How could she know her parents would catch them?

“I wish he’d just get married,” she mumbled. Then maybe she could really forget him and move on.

“He still pines for you, you know. You can’t hate a man forever simply because he loved you too much.”

Willow chuckled. “He didn’t love me. He was horny and ruined my life.”

“You know he loved you,” Nana scolded. “And still does…”

Dear Reader,

Imagine being unable to recognize your own mother—or your ex-lover. This is the dilemma Willow Marsden faces in The Forgotten Cowboy. (If you read The Millionaire Next Door, my previous Mills & Boon American Romance novel, you might remember that Willow was injured in a car accident during a tornado.)

Willow's condition is known as prosopagnosia, and it really does exist. I became aware of it when reading a book about how to improve your memory. I was fascinated, and the first thing I thought of (predictably) was What if I created a character with this disorder? And what if she couldn’t recognize her ex-boyfriend, with whom she shared a disastrous past? It’s always fun to come up with a new way to cause trouble for my characters.

If you would like to learn more about this unusual disorder and hear firsthand from people who cope with it every day, check out the Internet for extensive information.

I love to hear from readers!

E-mail me at karalennox@yahoo.com

or contact me via regular mail at P.O. Box 4845,

Dallas, TX 75148.

All best,

Kara Lennox

The Forgotten Cowboy

Kara Lennox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Books by Kara Lennox

MILLS & BOON AMERICAN ROMANCE

841—VIRGIN PROMISE

856—TWIN EXPECTATIONS

871—TAME AN OLDER MAN

893—BABY BY THE BOOK

917—THE UNLAWFULLY WEDDED PRINCESS

934—VIXEN IN DISGUISE*

942—PLAIN JANE’S PLAN*

951—SASSY CINDERELLA*

974—FORTUNE’S TWINS

990—THE MILLIONAIRE NEXT DOOR

1052—THE FORGOTTEN COWBOY

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Prologue

Willow Marsden studied the strange woman in her hospital room. She was an attractive female in her twenties, her beauty marred by a black eye and a bandage wound around her head. The woman looked unfamiliar; she was a complete stranger. Unfortunately, the stranger was in Willow’s mirror.

She lay the mirror down with a long sigh. Prosopagnosia—that was the clinical name for her condition. She’d suffered a head injury during a car accident, which had damaged a very specific portion of her brain—the part that enabled humans to distinguish one face from another. For Willow, every face she saw was strange and new to her—even those of her closest friends and relatives.

“You’re telling me I could be like this forever?”

Dr. Patel, her neurologist, shrugged helplessly. “Every recovery is different. You could snap back to normal in a matter of days, weeks, months or…yes, the damage could be permanent.”

“What about my short-term memory?” She couldn’t even remember what she’d had for breakfast that morning.

Again a shrug. Why was it so difficult to get a straight answer out of a doctor?

“Do you think I’ll be up to speed for medical school in the fall?” She asked the question as casually as she dared.

Dr. Patel abruptly dropped his professional-doctor mask. “I didn’t know of your plans. I’m sorry.”

“I guess that’s a big, fat no.” Willow softened her comment with a smile, but she had to force it. She should be grateful to be alive, to be walking and talking with no disfiguring scars. Her car accident during last week’s tornado had been a serious one and she easily could have died if not for the speed and skill of her rescuers. Right now, though, she didn’t feel grateful at all. Her plans and dreams were in serious jeopardy.

Dr. Patel closed Willow’s chart and offered a tentative smile. “Sometimes life throws us curve balls. But if your dream is to be a healer, you will find a way.”

Maybe, but not at University of Texas Southwestern. Willow had fought so hard to be accepted in the first place. If she withdrew at this late date with no explanation, she had very little chance of being accepted again. And if she told them the truth…well, no medical school wants a student with cognitive dysfunction.

For Willow, that meant only one thing. She would recover sooner rather than later. Damn the prognosis. She was not going to let anyone—not even fate—snatch away her dreams.

Not this time.

She was in control of her future. In six weeks, she intended to be at med school with a fully functioning brain.

Chapter One

One week later, Willow pasted on a smile as yet another wedding guest approached the register book. This was much, much harder than she’d anticipated.

“Why, Willow, it’s so good to see you up and around!” The woman was in her fifties, fashionably dressed, slender. The man with her was balding, wore glasses, carried himself with an air of self-importance.

Now, who in Cottonwood fit that description? Only about a zillion people. “I’m feeling much better,” Willow responded, plucking the white-plumed pen from its stand and holding it out. The woman took the hint and signed the book. Willow read the signature upside-down, a skill she was quickly acquiring. The Honorable and Mrs. Milton Chatsworth. Duh! The mayor and his wife. Their daughter, Anne, had been Willow’s favorite babysitter.

“How’s your granddaughter doing?” Willow asked. Anne was now married and the mother of a darling baby daughter.

“Growing like a weed,” the mayor crowed. “Do you want to see pictures?” He reached for his wallet, but his wife, Deborah, stopped him.

“Now, Milton, Willow’s busy. Maybe she can look at the pictures later.” She gave Willow a shoulder-squeeze and the couple moved on.

Willow breathed a sigh of relief as she surreptitiously jotted notes on an index card under the table skirt. Deb. Chatsworth. Teal dress, emerald ring. She’d given up on cataloguing the men. They were all wearing gray suits and navy ties. It was as if they’d called each other last night and arranged to match. But if she could keep the women straight, that might work, since couples tended to stick together. Unfortunately, she had to write down the cues, since her memory was still so spasmodic.

At first, she hadn’t wanted to attend her friend Mick’s wedding. It had sounded like her worst nightmare—a hundred people she knew, all of them with the same face. Then she’d reasoned that if she was going to cure her brain problem, she had to put herself in challenging situations and exercise her gray cells. And so far, so good. No one had even suspected she had a problem.

She turned her attention to the couple approaching her table. Ugh, another man in a gray suit. This one had blond hair and was undoubtedly handsome, though she could only judge that by objectively cataloguing his regular features, blue eyes and square jaw.

Her heart skipped a beat. Oh, please, don’t let it be him. Don’t let it be Cal Chandler. She was in no mood to face him, not when he was with a shapely woman in a snug red dress. Though it was tempting to rub his face in the fact that she was off to medical school in five weeks, despite everything he’d done to wreck her life, she wouldn’t be able to gloat with any sincerity—not when her future was again in doubt.

Just thinking about him started a slow burn in her gut. She’d gotten her life back on track despite the devastating setback she’d suffered five years ago, but she couldn’t say the same about him. He was practically a genius, with a degree in biomedical science. But he’d blown off vet school after one year and was now wasting his life as a casual laborer on a ranch. Not that it wasn’t good, honest work, but with Cal’s potential—

“Willow,” the woman in the red dress said with a warm smile as she signed the book. “I didn’t expect to see you here. You look a little flushed—are you okay?”

Willow glanced at the signature and sighed with quiet relief. This handsome blond man was Jeff Hardison, her grandmother’s doctor, and his wife, Allison, Cottonwood’s dentist. She was spared Cal for the moment.

Willow summoned a smile. “I’m feeling great.”

“Are you sure? I could bring you some punch.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Willow said reassuringly. “It’s just a little warm in here.” Or maybe it was just her. It burned her up just thinking about all the opportunities Cal had tossed away while she’d toiled through college working three jobs—

Okay, she had to stop thinking about him or she was going to embarrass herself.

“It’s good to see you,” Jeff said, sincerity tingeing his voice. “You had the whole town worried for a few days.”

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine now.”

As the Hardisons walked away, Willow realized her grandmother was standing beside her. Pathetically, she only knew it was Nana because she recognized her gaudy rhinestone brooch.

“Any problems?” her grandmother asked in a stage whisper. “You know, recognizing people?”

“I’ve got a pretty good system going.” Willow showed Nana her stack of index cards with their hastily written hints. “No one suspects a thing.”

“I don’t know why you don’t want anyone to know,” Nana said. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Nana, think about it. Do you want the whole town to think I’m brain-damaged? Even once I make a full recovery, that’s a label that could stick with me and ruin my life.”

Nana clucked like a fussy hen. “You worry too much about things ‘ruining your life.’”

Willow knew her grandmother was referring to more than the recent accident. She’d always thought Willow had overdramatized the humiliating incident that had turned her parents against her and changed the course of her life, that she’d been too quick to thrust all the blame on Cal. Okay, so it wasn’t all his fault. No one had held a gun to her head and forced her to take her clothes off and have sex with Cal. But she’d loved Cal so fiercely, and had been so afraid of losing him, she might as well have had a gun to her head when he’d taken her virginity.

“He’s here, you know,” Nana said quietly.

Willow didn’t have to clarify to whom Nana was referring. Her blood pressure ratcheted up a knot. “He is? Where is he? What’s he wearing? Wait, let me guess. A gray suit?”

“Why, yes. How did you know that?”

Willow smiled despite herself. “Statistical analysis. Nana, how will I know him so I can avoid him?”

“Don’t worry. I think he’s avoiding you. He didn’t sign the guest book, after all. But just in case, he’s wearing a red carnation in his lapel.”

“All right. That should be easy enough to spot. Um, Nana, is he here with anyone?”

“You mean, a date?”

Willow nodded, shame washing through her that she even cared. She shouldn’t.

“I didn’t notice any particular girls with him.”

“I wish he’d just get married,” Willow mumbled. Then maybe she could really forget him and move on.

“He still pines after you, you know.”

Willow thrust out her jaw. “Let him pine.” As if he really would. He probably had a line of women following him around.

“To err is human,” Nana said. “To forgive, divine.”

Willow had no snappy comeback for that one. “I know I should forgive him,” she said softly. “It’s wrong to carry a grudge. Sometimes I pray that I’ll find the grace to walk up to him and say, ‘Cal, I forgive you.’ But I can hardly imagine it, let alone do it.”

Nana clucked again. “Keep trying. You can’t hate a man forever simply because he loved you too much.”

Willow snorted. “He didn’t love me. He was horny and he ruined my life.”

“You know he loved you,” Nana scolded. “Still does.”

NANA’S WORDS echoed in Willow’s head as she watched her friend Mick exchange vows with Tonya Green. Willow and Mick had been friends since high school. They’d even dated for a few months, B.C. Before Cal. But pretty soon they’d both realized they weren’t happy as boyfriend and girlfriend, and they’d gone back to being platonic pals. She’d hung out with him a lot when Cal went away to college, after her freshman year.

Cal had been jealous, she recalled, though there was no reason for him to be.

Mick had struggled in recent years, trying to find himself. He’d dated literally dozens of girls while he sporadically took classes at the junior college. Then he’d gotten Tonya pregnant and, after a brief freak-out, he’d abruptly grown up.

Willow had been riding in Mick’s car the day of the tornado. He’d been hashing things out with her, using her as a sounding board as he tried to come to terms with the big changes in his life. Then the storm had sent his car crashing off a bridge and into the swollen Coombes Creek.

Unlike Willow, Mick hadn’t suffered any serious injuries, but the accident had forced him to set new priorities. Now he was looking forward to his new family life. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him so happy.

As she moved through the reception line a little later, Nana walked behind her and whispered names into her ear.

“You know that one’s Tonya, right?” Nana said.

“The frilly white dress and veil tipped me off.” She gave Tonya a hug, then Mick.

“I finally know what you’ve been talking about all these years,” Mick said.

“What?”

“You said I would know when I found my passion, that there wouldn’t be any doubt. You were right. I’m where I’m supposed to be now.”

Willow squeezed Mick’s hand. “How’s Amanda taking it?” Amanda was Mick’s older sister, who’d been taking care of him since their mother died years ago. She’d been frustrated with his lack of direction, and downright distraught when she’d found out about Tonya’s pregnancy.

“Amanda is delirious she’s getting rid of me.”

“Hey, I heard that,” said the platinum blonde in a pale blue bridesmaid’s dress, standing next to Mick. Identifying her was easy—no one else had hair that color. Amanda smiled and addressed Willow. “I’m going to miss him, strange as that may sound. Willow, you look great.”

“I’ll second that.” A dark-haired man with a chiseled face stood next to Amanda, a possessive arm around her waist. He could be none other than Dr. Hudson Stack, one of the rescue workers who had pulled Willow from the submerged car. “A whole lot better than when I helped load you into the ambulance. You must have remarkable recuperative powers.”

“I had good doctors,” Willow said humbly. “Thank you again, Dr. Stack, for what you did.”

“Call me Hudson, please. And this must be the lovely Clea Marsden.”

Willow could certainly see what Amanda saw in Dr. Stack. Handsome, brave and charming. On vacation from his demanding job in Boston, he’d rented the lake house next door to Amanda. He’d fallen so hard for his neighbor that he’d returned to Boston just long enough to tender his resignation and put his house on the market.

The rest of the wedding reception passed in a blur. Willow sat at a table in the gussied-up VFW hall, her cheat sheets hidden under her purse and her grandmother there for backup, and she continued to put on a good show. She had a few panicked moments when “strangers” approached and she couldn’t place them, but she was always able to gloss over the fact that their names weren’t on the tip of her tongue.

When she wasn’t busy studying clothes and jewelry and hair color, she kept tabs on a certain man in a gray suit with a red carnation in his lapel. She couldn’t help noticing that he was dancing up a storm. A regular social butterfly. But he seemed to be avoiding her corner of the room, and that was all she cared about.

SHERRY HARDISON could cut a mean jitterbug, Cal Chandler thought as he twirled her across one of his hips, then the other, her gauzy skirt flying so high she almost showed her panties. Sherry was his boss’s new wife, a fun-loving party girl with a mop of blond curls and a dazzling smile. A nurse from Dallas, she’d come to Cottonwood last fall to take care of Jonathan when he’d broken his leg. She’d had a hard time fitting in at first, but soon everyone was able to see beyond her fancy clothes and her fast sports car to the truly kind, gentle person she was. She and Jon had married at Christmas, as soon as he could walk down the aisle under his own power, and all the ranch employees were crazy about her. She brought them lemonade on hot days and remembered their birthdays and their kids’ birthdays.

And, boy, could she dance. Cal had learned to dance in college, when he and all his dateless buddies hung out at the C&W bars and took swing lessons from curvaceous instructors wearing tight denim just so they could hold a pretty girl in their arms. He seldom got to show off his skills with a partner this good.

But as fun and nice and pretty as Sherry was, there was someone else he would rather be dancing with.

“Why don’t you just ask her, instead of staring at her like a scolded puppy?” Sherry asked.

Cal groaned. “Is it that obvious?”

“Like an elephant having an allergy fit.”

“I can’t ask her. She would freeze me solid with one look.”

“You two have a history, I take it?”

Since Sherry was relatively new in town, she wouldn’t know all the ancient history. “We dated for almost four years, when she was still in high school.”

“Your first love.”

His only.

“What went wrong?” Sherry asked in her forthright way. Not nosy, just concerned. She was always trying to help people.

“Oh, I couldn’t tell you. It’s too embarrassing. But just ask around. Almost everybody knows about it.”

“Now I’m intrigued.”

Shoot, she was going to find out anyway. “Her parents caught us in, shall we say, a compromising position?”

He could tell Sherry was trying not to laugh. “And that’s why you broke up?”

“Believe me, it was no laughing matter. Her folks went ballistic. She was supposed to go off to college in the fall—Stanford. But after ‘the incident,’ as it was referred to, they didn’t let her go. They thought she would ‘go wild’ way out there in California.”

Sherry looked confused. “Did she need their permission?”

“She needed them to pay for it. Stanford’s not cheap. Willow didn’t have the funds to do it without their help. She had to live at home and go to junior college for a couple of years.”

The song ended, and by silent, mutual agreement Sherry and Cal headed for the refreshment table. “And that’s why you broke up?” Sherry asked as Cal filled a cup with punch for her.

“I ruined her life.”

“Oh, and I suppose she had nothing to do with it?” Sherry scoffed.

“Well.” This was the part Cal hated to admit. “It was my fault. I sort of pressured her into it. She wasn’t ready, but I was older and I’d waited all this time for her to grow up, and I was facing the prospect of her running off to California, half a country away—”

“And you wanted to bond with her more closely.”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t believe he was talking to his boss’s wife about sex, but Sherry was really easy to talk to.

Jonathan sauntered over, putting an end to the conversation. “You gonna monopolize my wife all night, Chandler?”

Sometimes, Cal couldn’t tell if Jonathan was kidding or not. He’d always been kind of serious, though Sherry’s freewheeling style had loosened him up quite a bit.

Sherry just punched Jonathan in the arm. “Why would you care? You don’t dance. And this young man…” She plucked the red carnation from Cal’s buttonhole. “…can dance.” Then she stuck the flower between her teeth and struck a flamenco dancer’s pose.

Jonathan grinned and took his wife’s arm. “Come on, Sherrita, I’ll show you some dancing.” As he dragged her off, Sherry looked at Cal and nodded toward Willow, as if to say, Ask her.

Well, hell, why not? What was the worst that could happen? Willow wouldn’t make a scene, not at her friend’s wedding.

WILLOW DRAINED the last of her punch from the glass and checked her watch. She was getting tired. Ever since her hospital stay, she had almost no stamina. But her grandmother was having a good time, dancing with the bride’s grandfather, and Willow didn’t want to be a wet blanket.

A shadow fell across the table. Willow looked up, and her breath caught in her throat. A handsome, tanned man with sun-streaked hair stood before her, somber-faced. Uh-oh, no woman to anchor him to. And he wore the ubiquitous gray suit, though his broad shoulders filled it out much better than the average man.

Momentarily panicked, her gaze darted to his lapel. Thank goodness, no red carnation. She’d thought she was in trouble there for a minute. Still, she had no clue who this man was—only that he made her palms damp and her mouth dry.

Whoa. Get a grip, there, Willomena.

He flashed a dazzling smile, and Willow’s heartbeat accelerated to hyperspeed. “Hi, Willow.”

“H-hello.” How could she not remember a guy as appealing as this? He had a rugged outdoorsy-ness about him that made her think of sunshine and fresh air—and a few less innocent thoughts, as well.

“It’s good to see you. I heard about your accident.”

“It’s nice to see you, too.” Whoever you are. “I’m fine now. Except for the black eye.” She reached up and touched her discolored eye self-consciously. Almost two weeks since the accident, the bright purple bruises had faded to green and yellow, which she’d mostly disguised with makeup. But her cover-up job wasn’t perfect.

“I think you look beautiful.”

Ohh, a flatterer. She’d better be careful with this one. She resisted the urge to flirt back. What if he was married? The husband of a good friend?

Could he be Jeff Hardison? Handsome, blond…

No matter who he was, she had no business entertaining ideas. She had work to do. Preparations to make. A brain to fix.

“Your grandmother told me you were recuperating at her house,” the man said.

“Nana is spoiling me rotten.” Just keep talking. Maybe she would figure it out.

“She always did. Do you…would you dance with me?”

The exhaustion Willow had felt moments earlier vanished like mist on a hot day. “Sure,” she heard herself say. Oh, why not? It was just a dance. No law said she couldn’t dance with a sexy guy at a wedding.

The song was an old number by Clint Black, and the man took Willow into his arms in an easy two-step. She didn’t consider herself much of a dancer, but her partner was easy to follow and soon they were gliding across the floor with little effort, a veritable Fred and Ginger.

“So, what are you up to these days?” Willow asked. This question had served her well all evening. Once someone started talking about themselves, she could usually figure out who they were.

The man shrugged his broad shoulders. “Same old stuff. Making a living. Trying to stay out of trouble.”

That was no help!

“I hear you’re off to med school in a few weeks,” he said.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You’ve worked pretty hard to get there. You must be proud.”

“Still a lot of work ahead.” More than anyone knew.

Willow didn’t want to talk about herself, and her dance partner wouldn’t talk about himself. So they danced in a highly charged silence, gliding across the floor in perfect harmony. The man’s hands were large, slightly rough from hard work and unusually warm. The one at her waist felt like it could burn a hole through her silk dress.

She avoided looking straight at him because something in his eyes made her want to squirm uncomfortably. It was almost as if he knew more about her than she knew herself, that he could see deep to her core and know her innermost secrets.

But how could that be? This man could not possibly be someone she knew well or she would have figured out his identity by now. Although his voice struck a slight chord of familiarity, she couldn’t place it. It was deep, a little bit hoarse and husky, as if he were just recovering from a cold or had been yelling too long and too loud at a baseball game.

The bouncy song came to a close, then immediately blended into a slow ballad, some dreamy old thing by Patsy Cline. Willow knew she should thank the man for the dance and sit down. A song like this was reserved for lovers, so they could hold each other close and murmur into each other’s ears and be intimate in a public place.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead she nestled into the warm embrace of her mysterious stranger, where she seemed to fit perfectly. There wasn’t even a moment of awkwardness. His strong arms slid around her waist, hers went around his neck and she laid her head lightly on his shoulder. She could smell traces of his aftershave, something old-fashioned like English Leather, or maybe just lime-scented shaving cream. She’d never been good at telling one smell apart from another, which was unfortunate, because smell was one of the main cues face-blind people used to distinguish friends…and lovers.

Mmm, she was sure she would remember this scent, though. Shampoo? Starch? Laundry detergent? Whatever it was, the blend was intoxicating.

Willow hoped no one was watching her. They might think it strange to see her so intimately wrapped up with—whom? Who could it be? Was she behaving inappropriately? Surely if the man was married he wouldn’t act like this in public. But men could certainly be cads.

Oh, shoot, she didn’t care. Anyway, the lights had been turned down so low, no one could see who was dancing with whom. An old-fashioned disco ball spun in the air above them, the tiny bits of mirrored glass casting glittering flecks of light over the dancers, creating a cocoon of surrealism.

Her partner had maneuvered her away from the main crowd on the floor, Willow realized. Spinning slowly through the song’s smoky tendrils, they’d angled toward some ivy-festooned, papier-mâché Roman columns, then into a shadowy alcove. And there, behind a screen of ivy leaves, he kissed her.

Chapter Two

It was an amazing kiss, Willow thought dazedly as she sank into it, her bones turning to mush. Amazing as the kiss was, it was even more astonishing that she let him kiss her. She didn’t offer even a token protest as his warm mouth closed over hers, tentatively at first, probably prepared for an objection. And when none came, his kiss became more sure as he took control of her mouth, as well as all her senses.

She’d never been kissed like this, as if the man were pouring his entire soul into one embrace. If his kiss was this intoxicating, what might it be like to actually—

She shut down that line of thought and dived headfirst into the kiss, living in the moment. That was something else she wasn’t very good at. She was always thinking forward, planning ahead, worrying about all contingencies. But for this moment, she didn’t worry. And it felt pretty darn good to just shed everything but the feel of the man’s arms around her, his hands in her hair, and his amazing mouth caressing hers with such strength and gentleness at the same time, playing her the way a master musician would play even a run-of-the-mill violin and make it sing.

His curious fingers found the stitched cut on the side of her head, which she’d artfully hidden by combing her hair just right. She took his hand and pulled it away from her injury, suddenly self-conscious about it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “You’re probably still tender there.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t want you to know all my secrets.” She rubbed her cheek against the slight roughness of his. “I worked hard to hide those stitches.”

He slid his hand under her heavy hair around to the nape of her neck. “I want to know all your secrets.”

Now she was getting embarrassed. She could feel her face flushing. This was all so…not like her. She didn’t kiss strange men in public places.

“All I could think about, all night long, was kissing you,” he tried again. “I know it’s probably too much, too fast, but—”

She took his face between her hands, stood on her toes and kissed him again. She didn’t want to talk yet. She didn’t want mere words to pull her back into the real world.

He groaned low in his throat, wrapped his arms around her, as if sheltering her from prying eyes, and deepened the kiss for a few precious seconds before abruptly ending it.

He was breathing hard. Seemingly with some effort, he set her away from him. “Damn, darlin’, that’s some potent kiss you got there.”

“Likewise.” Willow wasn’t a hundred percent in control of herself, even now when she wasn’t wrapped in his arms.

“If we weren’t here in the middle of the VFW hall—”

Willow covered her face. “Don’t say it.” Though it was true and she knew it. If they were in private, he wouldn’t stop at a kiss. And she wouldn’t want him to.

Her brain injury must have been more extensive than she thought. She was completely insane, certifiably!

“Sorry.” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, tucked it behind her ear. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. It’s just that I’ve pictured this moment for such a long time—”

“You have?”

“I think about you a lot. Probably too much to be good for me.”

Willow would have loved to be able to tell him she’d thought about him, too, that she’d noticed him, that she’d hoped he would ask her out or that she might be brave enough to ask him out.

But she hadn’t thought about any guy in that way for a long time. Not since her sophomore year at University of Texas, when she’d finally been out from under her parents’ control for the first time ever—and away from curious, small-town eyes. She’d gone a little bit wild, dating a whole slew of guys in some misguided effort to wipe memories of Cal Chandler out of her mind.

She’d been intrigued with some of them, and she’d tried her best to transform mild interest into wild attraction. But she’d never wanted any of them enough to sleep with them. Cal was the only one she’d ever loved enough to risk sex with, and look what a disaster that had turned into.

Then her class work had become more demanding, and she’d given up on guys altogether—with some relief. She was glad to not have to worry about sex anymore.

“This isn’t how I wanted to start things with us, Willow.”

She raised her eyebrows. “How did you want to start?”

“With a date. A nice, normal date. Could we do that? Could we start over?”

There were a zillion reasons for her to say no, starting with the fact she didn’t know who he was. She had to get ready for her move to Dallas. She had to unscramble her brains.

But there was one, overriding reason to say yes. That kiss. She’d never experienced anything like it. Not even Cal’s kisses, much as she’d loved him, had made her want to rip off her clothes and offer herself like some pagan sacrifice. What if this was the sort of chemistry that happened only once in a lifetime? Could she just walk away from that?

“I’m moving to Dallas in five weeks,” she said. “You do understand that, right?”

“Willow. You don’t always have to think about what happens five weeks from now. Or even one week from now. How about just thinking through tomorrow? Going out to dinner with me. Just a simple date.”

Well, when he put it that way… “Okay,” she heard herself saying.

“I’ll pick you up at your grandmother’s at seven. We’ll go to the Party Barge.”

“Sounds fun.” Willow suppressed the giddy laughter that threatened. The Party Barge. It was a big barge that cruised Town Lake on weekends. Patrons dressed up, ate prime rib and danced to live big-band music. When she’d been in high school, she and Cal had talked about going there for her twenty-first birthday, when she could legally order a cocktail. It had seemed an impossibly sophisticated and expensive evening out for a couple of dreamy kids.

Well, her twenty-first birthday had come and gone a long time ago, and she’d never been to the Party Barge.

Suddenly, Willow realized she was standing behind the ivy curtain all alone. Her mystery man had vanished while she’d been momentarily lost in her adolescent fantasy. That’s what she got for thinking about Cal when she’d had a flesh-and-blood man within reach.

She checked to be sure her clothes were in order—that she’d ripped them off only in her imagination—then slipped out of the sheltered alcove. No one seemed to be paying her any mind, thank heavens. She made a beeline for the bathroom, where she straightened her hair and wiped off her smeared lipstick. Her face was still flushed, her eyes a little brighter than usual, but probably no one would notice that.

Suddenly, her fatigue caught up with her again. She’d definitely overdone it today. This was her first real outing since coming home from the hospital. The surge of adrenaline brought on by the dance and kiss had dwindled, leaving her feeling a bit washed-out.

She would find Nana and go home, where she could sit quietly and think about her date tomorrow. She was pretty sure that was all she would be able to think about.

Nana was sitting at their table, fanning herself with a paper fan she kept folded in her purse. She looked up when Willow approached.

“Oh, there you are. I wondered where you’d got to. Are you about ready to go?”

“I was just going to ask you the same thing.” Willow picked up her purse and tucked her cheat sheet index cards inside. She would throw them away when she got home. Once everyone changed clothes, they would be useless and she would have to start over.

“Oh, dear, you’re feeling all right, aren’t you?” Nana asked, concern wrinkling her brow. “You look a little flushed.”

Leave it to Nana, with her eagle eyes, to notice. “I’m fine. It’s a little warm in here. Um, Nana, did you happen to notice who I was dancing with a little while ago?”

Nana’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “No. Who was it?”

Willow groaned. “I was hoping you’d tell me. Are you sure you didn’t see? We were dancing to Patsy Cline.”

“A slow song, huh?” Nana was clearly amused.

“This isn’t funny. I told him I’d go out with him, and then I…” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I kissed him. And I don’t know who he is.”

Nana shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I was doing a bit of dancing myself and I guess I just lost track of you. So you’re going on a date with him? When? Where’s he taking you?”

“Tomorrow, the Party Barge. Oh, Nana, what if he’s someone totally inappropriate? Someone I’d never in a million years go out with? What if he’s married or dating one of my friends?”

“Then he would try to see you on the sly. He wouldn’t take you out on a date and certainly not to such a public place.”

Nana had a point.

“You’re worrying for nothing.” Nana patted Willow’s arm as they headed for the exit. The bride and groom had already left for their honeymoon. Willow supposed there were people she should say goodnight to, but she would have to summon up names again and she really didn’t have the energy. So she just waved at anyone who made eye contact.

Soon they were safely in Nana’s car, a twenty-year-old Ford Taurus she kept in immaculate condition.

“Cottonwood is full of nice young men,” Nana said as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Maybe your mystery man was that nice sheriff’s deputy, Luke Rheems. He’s handsome and eligible and I noticed him watching you.”

“Or he might have been Orville, the garbage man.”

“I think you would have noticed if he was missing several teeth. Anyway, he was young, wasn’t he?”

Willow shrugged. “Age is one of those qualities I have trouble with. I can tell a child from an old man, but those ages in between tend to look a lot alike. Oh, Nana, what if he’s someone I have nothing in common with?”

“You won’t know until you spend time with him.”

“How can I go out with a man,” Willow tried again, “if I don’t know his name?”

That stumped Nana for a moment. Then she got a decisive look on her face. “This isn’t a problem. When he comes to pick you up tomorrow, I’ll be there to greet him. Before you leave, I’ll have a private word with you and I’ll tell you who he is. Then you’ll at least be able to call him by his name.”

“What if you don’t know him?”

“Then he’ll introduce himself and the problem will be solved another way. Willow, darling, you spend way too much time worrying. It will all work out. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You admit to him that you have a bit of a problem recognizing faces—”

“No! I can’t tell him that. I can’t tell anyone that. Then it would get all over town, and people would feel sorry for me even as they’re avoiding me—”

“Oh, Willow,” Nana said. “Like I said, you worry too much.”

CAL WAS MORE NERVOUS about his date with Willow than he could ever remember being. He still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to go out with him. Or that he’d kissed her. Or that she’d kissed him back.

And what a kiss. It wasn’t like he remembered from five years ago. He’d always enjoyed kissing Willow, of course. She’d been shy about it at first, very inexperienced. She’d confessed that he was only the third boy she’d ever kissed, and the first two had been just little pecks. But he’d persevered, and pretty soon they were making out every chance they got—any time they could escape the watchful eyes of her overprotective parents.

He’d been crazy for her, just about as horny as an eighteen-year-old boy could get. But he’d never gotten the idea that Willow was similarly inflamed. She went through the motions and her technique improved. But Cal never sensed that she was getting carried away.

Last night at the wedding, however, had been a whole ’nother story. The woman had been on fire, just as he’d been. Maybe that was the difference between the girl he’d fallen in love with and the woman she’d become. The girl had kissed him because she loved him and wanted to please him. The woman had kissed him because she’d wanted to.

He wondered what else about Willow had changed. She was taller and she’d filled out slightly, though she still had that reed-slim body and waist-length hair that haunted his dreams. But had she changed inside? Could he push his outdated memories of Willow into the past where they belonged and fall in love with the woman she’d become?

He looked forward to finding out.

Her grandmother’s house looked the same as it always did when he pulled up out front. The large, two-story frame house, almost a hundred years old, had a wide, inviting front porch with a swing. The front yard was practically overrun with roses in every color, blooming like crazy. Willow had grown up in Mooresville, on the other side of Town Lake. Her parents owned the bank there, and they both worked there full-time. So Willow had spent summers living with Clea.

Clea Marsden was the perfect grandmother. She baked cookies and made fresh lemonade and sewed quilts and grew roses. But she was a modern thinker and a lot more liberal than Willow’s parents. While Willow’s parents had disapproved of her romance with Cal because of the age difference, Clea had encouraged it. She’d told Cal once that she could tell from the very beginning that the two of them belonged together. So Cal had run tame at Clea’s big, homey house all summer long.

Even after Willow had broken up with him, Cal had stayed close to Clea. He did odd jobs for her now, fixing little things around the house, checking the oil and tire pressure in her car, mowing the lawn. She’d been a widow for a long time, and she was pretty self-sufficient, but everyone needed help now and then.

Now it was seven o’clock on the nose. Willow had always valued punctuality, so Cal had made sure he wouldn’t be late. With one final glance in the rearview mirror, he got out and headed for the door, his stomach tumbling with nerves. Those weren’t butterflies in there; it felt more like a herd of rhinoceros.

He rang the bell. Heard footsteps. Swallowed, his mouth suddenly full of cotton. The door opened, and Clea stood there, a pleasant, welcoming smile on her face. Her smile faltered a moment when she recognized Cal, but then it returned, even bigger than before. Had Willow not told her grandmother to expect him?

“Come in, come in, Cal. It’s so good to see you. Willow’s just finishing her hair—she’ll be down in a minute.” She showed him into the living room, where a plate of cookies sat invitingly on the coffee table. “Would you like a cookie?”

Cal groaned. “Are those your oatmeal peanut-butter cookies?”

“Mmm-hmm. Just baked them this afternoon.”

“I don’t want to spoil my—okay, just one.” He couldn’t resist. He took a cookie and bit into it, savoring the sweet, rich taste that brought back a thousand memories. He and Willow used to pack picnic lunches and hike into the woods that ran through the back of the Hardison Ranch. They would spread out a quilt by the creek, gorge themselves on fried chicken and potato salad and at least half a dozen cookies each, then swim in the creek.

Clea disappeared briefly, and when she returned, she had her purse in her hand. “I hope you won’t think I’m rude, but I have bingo tonight. You kids have fun!” She waved and disappeared again. Moments later, Cal heard the back door open and close.

Less than a minute after Clea’s departure, Cal heard another door open and close, then footsteps coming down the stairs.

He bounced to his feet just as Willow entered the living room. She looked like a goddess in a white gauzy summer dress. It wasn’t short or clingy or low-cut, but Cal found it sexy as hell, the way it gently conformed to her breasts and the curve of her hip. Her dainty feet were encased in high-heeled white sandals, and she’d woven her long hair up into a sophisticated twist of some kind.

“Hi,” she said with a shy smile.

“Hi, yourself. You look gorgeous.”

She looked around. “Where’s Nana?”

“Oh, she said she had to go to bingo.”

A look of panic overtook Willow’s face. “What? You mean she’s gone?”

“Yeah. Is something wrong?”

Willow headed for the kitchen. Cal followed, curious as to why her grandmother’s departure would upset Willow. Was Clea in ill health? Willow opened the back door, stared out, then slowly shut it. She turned toward Cal, looking very upset indeed.

“You’re right. She’s gone. Bingo? I didn’t know the church had bingo on Sunday nights.”

“She could have gone somewhere else. The Elks Lodge, maybe. Willow, is something wrong?”

Willow seemed to pull herself together. “No. I just didn’t realize she was leaving, that’s all. She surprised me.”

Apparently so.

“We should probably go,” Cal said. “I don’t want to miss boarding.”

WILLOW COULD NOT believe her grandmother had run out on her like that. Had she forgotten she had an important mission? How was Willow supposed to go out on a date with a man when she didn’t know his name?

Well, she supposed if her mystery date were a known ax murderer or recently released from the mental hospital, Nana would have said something. Unless he did away with Nana while Willow was primping….

Now she was being paranoid. Willow supposed it was safe to go out with him. But how could Nana have forgotten to tell Willow who he was?

Was Nana getting senile? Something else to worry about.

She would try very hard to put her worries out of her head for now, however. She was going out dining and dancing with a handsome—at least, she thought he was handsome—man, and she was going to enjoy it. She decided to assign him a fictitious name, just until she discovered what his real one was.

Let’s see. Bill? Fred? No, those weren’t right.

Hank. She would think of him as Hank.

“Just let me get my purse and I’ll be ready.”

Hank drove a truck, she soon discovered. An old brown Chevy, sturdy and utilitarian, recently waxed and immaculate inside. He helped her into the high seat, his gaze lingering on her leg when her dress rode up a few inches. She gave him a look that let him know she’d caught him, but at the same time, his frank interest caused something to ignite deep inside her.

Oh, Lord, it was too early in the evening to deal with those kinds of feelings. She had to keep her wits about her, be alert for any sort of clue to her date’s identity.

His job. She would ask him about his work. “So, how is your work going these days?”

“I’m off for a couple of weeks. I don’t know if you heard, but that tornado knocked me around a bit, too. I didn’t have the sense to get out of my truck and find cover when the sirens went off. But, you know, we get so many warnings that never amount to anything, I just wasn’t worried when I should have been.”

“I know. Mick was sure we could make it home before the storm hit. I hope you weren’t seriously injured.”

“I got sucked right out of my truck, then pinned under it.”

“Oh, my God, I’m surprised you’re walking around.” Willow tried to remember whether she’d heard of any other serious injuries. But those first few days after her accident, she’d been so focused on her own recovery she hadn’t thought much about others’ misfortunes. And if she had heard about this man’s injuries, she probably wouldn’t remember, she thought grimly. Her week in the hospital was mostly a blur.

“I broke some ribs, punctured a lung,” he said, as if that were no big deal. “It could have been bad, ’cause the ambulances couldn’t get through, but Dr. Stack came along. He knew what to do.”

“That guy gets around. He helped rescue me, too.”

“Anyway, Jon gave me a couple of weeks off to recuperate. He also loaned me this truck, until I can get mine replaced.”

John Who? Willow wondered. She decided to go out on a limb. “You mean Jon Hardison?”

“Yeah. That’s where I’m working now.”

Willow’s breath caught in her throat. The Hardison Ranch was where Cal worked, last she’d heard. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask “Hank” if he knew Cal, which of course he would, but she stopped herself. She did not want to be one of those tedious women who talk incessantly about old boyfriends they hadn’t quite gotten over.

Anyway, she’d gotten over Cal. Completely.

All right, so her mystery man was a ranch hand. Nothing wrong with that.

“It’s good, honest work,” Hank said, almost as if he’d heard her. “I thought I’d do it just temporary, but I found I like it. Well, not all of it. Castrating calves and putting up fences and hauling hay—that’s just work. But I like hanging out with horses and cows. And I seem to be pretty good at it. In fact, Wade’s got me over at his place half the time, working with the green horses. I got to show some of his campers how I halter-train a colt once. That was a hoot.”

Wade was Jonathan’s younger brother, a national rodeo champion. He’d started a horse-breeding operation on his portion of the ranch, and he also ran a rodeo camp for city kids, which was gaining a national reputation.

Willow smiled at the image of “Hank” working with the kids. Oh, she was liking him more and more. What wasn’t to like about a guy who had an affinity for animals and kids?

Cal was kind to animals, she reflected. She’d always admired him for that. She’d been so proud of him when he’d gotten accepted into vet school. Not that anyone had been surprised. Cal was so smart, a straight-A student without even trying. The surprise had come when he’d dropped out after a year. And while it didn’t bother her at all that “Hank” worked on a ranch, because he was obviously suited to it, it seemed like a huge waste that someone with Cal’s intellect and abilities, and enough family money to pursue any endeavor in the world, chose menial labor.

Oh, hell, here she was thinking about Cal again.

“I didn’t mean to go on and on,” Hank said apologetically. “My work might not be glamorous, but it’s worthwhile. I wanted you to know that.”

“I have no problem with your work,” she said, be-mused. Did he think she was a total snob, that she wouldn’t be seen with someone who didn’t drive a Mercedes and wear a tie every day?

“I want to talk about you,” he said.

“Nothing about me is very interesting.” Besides, if they focused on her, she would never find out who he was.

“I beg to differ.” He gave her a smoldering look that could have set her panties on fire. Oh, come on. What was wrong with her that she reacted so strongly?

He must not be a stranger, she reasoned. Her subconscious must know this man. That was the only way she could explain her strong sexual response to him.

They parked in the lot, got their reserved tickets at a booth, then stood in line at the dock to board the gleaming white barge. The sun was still out, and it was warm. She hoped they wouldn’t have to stand in the heat for long.

Hank immediately sensed her discomfort. “Why don’t we sit at one of those picnic tables in the shade?” he suggested. “We’ve got our tickets. We don’t really have to stand in line.”

“But I want a good table,” she argued. “I’ve fanta-sized about doing this for years. I want it to be perfect.”

Hank winked. “I know the maître d’. Our table is reserved.”

Just then the gangway was opened and everyone started boarding, so they remained in line. Hank and the maître d’, whose nametag identified him as Ken, shook hands and did a little backslapping. Willow listened attentively in case Ken used Hank’s real name, but he didn’t, darn it. They were shown to a lovely table for two, tucked away in a private corner. But they had a good view out their own little porthole.

“Oh, this is perfect,” Willow said.

And it was, every nuance of the evening. As the barge got under way, beginning its languorous journey around the glass-smooth lake, Hank ordered some expensive French burgundy. Willow was only sorry she didn’t know enough about wine to fully appreciate it, but it tasted wonderful and she didn’t object when Hank refilled her glass.

She sipped slowly, savoring the deep, dark flavor. Every bite of her tender prime rib melted in her mouth.

And of course they danced. Hank was a really good dancer—not flashy, not a show-off. Just smooth. Her heart felt like a balloon inflating in her chest every time the band started up a slow song.

He pulled the same trick as he had at the wedding reception, dancing her into the shadows. But instead of pulling her more tightly into his arms and kissing her, he guided her out the hatch and onto the deck.

The deck was almost deserted. They found a secluded portion of railing and leaned against it, watching the shoreline slip by as the flaming sun settled behind a distant hill.

“It’s so pretty out here,” Willow said on a sigh. “I tend to take the lake for granted. I know it’s here, I cross over the bridge every time I go to my parents’ house. But I don’t think much about it.”

“It’d be nice to have a little sailboat out here,” Hank said. “With just the sound of the wind and the lapping water, you could really think. Clear all the junk out of your head.”

“And what sort of junk would a man like you have to clear out?”

“Oh, you know. Baggage. Bad habits. Regrets.”

“Surely you don’t have many of those.”

“Only one, darlin’.” And then he kissed her, and she didn’t resist at all.

This really wasn’t like her, she thought yet again as she returned his kiss in full measure, their tongues dancing, her breath rising and falling in tandem with his. His hand brushed against her breast, almost as if by accident. He did it again, turning the incidental contact into a tender caress. Her nipples hardened, thrusting against the silk and lace of her bra, the sensation so intense it was almost painful.

The assault on her senses was so overwhelming she had to put a stop to the embrace. If she didn’t, she was afraid what might happen. With determination, she pulled away, pushing slightly against his shoulders for good measure.

The effect was like a bucket of cold water. Hank looked so crestfallen, she wanted to take it back, to return to his embrace and just let him do whatever he wanted.

“Willow, I’m sorry. Please, don’t be mad. You’re just so beautiful tonight, I can’t hardly control myself.” His words came in an urgent whisper, even huskier than usual. “I’ll be good. I will. The last—the very last thing I want to do is rush you.”

Good heavens, didn’t he get it? She wanted to be rushed. She wasn’t upset about his behavior, only a bit bewildered by her own. The last thing she needed was an apology. How could a man apologize for making her feel so special, so excited, like a top just before someone pulled the string and sent it spinning out of control?

“Will the cruise be over soon?” Her own voice sounded a bit hoarse.

He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Guess that means you are mad.”

“No. I just—I’d like to be alone. With you, I mean. Alone with you.”

Chapter Three

Cal was sure he was dreaming. He’d counted himself lucky that Willow didn’t throw things at him when he approached her at Mick and Tonya’s wedding. He’d thought divine intervention must have been responsible when she let him kiss her the first time, and when she’d agreed to go out with him, he’d thought he must be the luckiest man in the world.

But he’d never dreamed he would hear those words out of Willow’s mouth, not on their first date in five years. I’d like to be alone…alone with you. Yup. Had to be a dream.

If it was, he hoped he never woke up.

The Party Barge was about to dock. Cal left a generous tip for their server, then steered Willow toward the gangway. They were first in line to get off.

“You’re not getting too tired, are you?” He was still a little shaky from his own hospital stay, and he’d been released several days before Willow.

“No, I’m fine. And the Party Barge was wonderful, everything I always imagined it would be. But I’m ready to—”

She stopped, and Cal was dying to know what she was about to say. But he didn’t want to push her. He again helped her into the truck, then climbed in and started the engine.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked as he eased the truck out of the bumpy parking lot, glad they were beating the crowd. “We could take a drive. Lots of pretty country roads around here.” Though he would not go anywhere near the place where he and Willow used to go parking.

“Could we go to your place?” She sounded a little nervous. “Or maybe it’s rude to just invite myself over. You could—I mean, Nana wouldn’t mind if we hung out at her house. But you might not think hanging with my grandmother is that cool.” She laughed, then looked at him uncertainly to see if he was laughing with her.

He smiled. She was nervous. “We can definitely go to my house.” He wasn’t the best housekeeper in the world, but he hired a cleaning service to come in every couple of weeks and give the place a good going-over. Fortunately, they’d just come that morning. “Not that I don’t adore Clea, and I wouldn’t mind a few more of her cookies.”

“They’re outrageously good, aren’t they? You should try her fudge.”

It was on the tip of Cal’s tongue to remind Willow that he had tried Clea’s fudge dozens, maybe hundreds of times. They were his favorite, and Willow used to accuse him of dating her just so he could get to her grandmother’s cookies.

It was odd Willow wouldn’t remember that. But he decided to say nothing. He didn’t want to bring up the past at all. They were starting over tonight with a clean slate.

Cal rented an apartment in one of Cottonwood’s oldest neighborhoods, just off the square, on the second floor of a painted-lady Victorian.

His grandmother on his mother’s side had left him a farm up in Lancaster, a small town just southwest of Dallas. He could have sold it and used the money to buy just about any kind of house he wanted. But buying seemed like such a permanent decision for someone who didn’t know where he would be in five years. So he rented, and the money he collected from leasing the farm for grazing went into shares of a mutual fund that had performed steadily despite the roller-coaster economy. If Cal ever decided what he wanted to be when he grew up, he had the funds to do it.

That was a big if.

“Oh, my gosh, what a great place,” Willow said when he turned into the driveway. “I’ve always loved this house. The Whittakers used to live here, didn’t they?”

“They still do—on the ground floor. They rent out the second floor to me.” He took her around to the back and up the fire-escape stairs. They could have gone in the front door, but Mr. and Mrs. Whittaker would waylay them and talk their ears off, and he would never get Willow alone.

He unlocked the French doors that led from the balcony into the living room. Before he could switch the lights on, a familiar black-and-white blur met them, tail thumping, pink tongue lolling.

“Oh, a dog!” Willow stooped down to pet the border collie. “Hi there, fella.”

“It’s a girl.”

“Oh, sorry. What’s her name?”

“Clementine. Clem for short.”

“She certainly is well-behaved.”

“She likes to please. Clem, go outside.” The dog reluctantly but obediently slipped out the door and down the stairs.

“Aren’t you afraid she’ll run off?” Willow asked. “You don’t have a fence.”

“No, she won’t go anywhere. She’s trained. Besides, she knows she’s got a good deal here. Have a seat.” He switched on a couple of lights. He didn’t want Willow to think he had seduction in mind.

And he didn’t. Okay, it was in his mind, but he had no intentions of following through. His raging hormones had driven Willow away from him once. He had to prove that he was attracted to more than just her delectable body. Not that he had any complaints about the package.

“Do you want some coffee?” he asked, playing the polite host. Coffee would keep their hands and their mouths busy. They could listen to music. Watch a DVD. Play checkers.

“That sounds good.”

He was a patient man, he thought as he left her for the kitchen. He’d waited five years to make Willow his again. He could wait a little longer.

He’d just turned on the coffee maker when an ear-piercing scream split the evening calm. Cal raced back to the living room, visions of mayhem and blood making his pulse pound. He found Willow standing on the sofa, her eyes huge, her face pale as vanilla ice cream. She pointed down to the rug near a chair.

“I just saw the biggest rat in the entire world. It went under that chair.” She pointed more emphatically.

Cal groaned. “Oh, no. Willow, it’s okay. It’s just Rudy.”

“You name your rats?” She didn’t budge from her position on the couch.

“Rudy is a ferret.” Cal got down on his hands and knees and peered under the recliner. Two red eyes glowed at him. “You probably scared him more than he scared you.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

Cal reached under the chair and withdrew the cream-colored ferret. Rudy was trembling, but with a few strokes and some reassuring words from Cal, he soon calmed down.

The same couldn’t be said for Willow.

“I’m sorry he scared you,” Cal said. “He’s supposed to be in his cage, but he’s figured out how to escape. He squeezes under the door, I think.” Turning to his ferret, he scratched it under its chin. “Aren’t you a smart fellow?”

Willow looked at him dubiously from where she still perched on top of the sofa.

“Come down from there. Rudy is completely harmless, I promise.”

She stepped down to the floor using his hand for support, then sank onto the sofa. “Sorry about that. Guess I just proved the stereotype. I screamed like a girlie-girl, didn’t I?”

Cal laughed. “You did.”

She cast a cautious look toward the ferret, which had climbed onto Cal’s shoulder and was staring back just as hard at Willow. “Okay, let’s have a look at Rudy.”

Cal scooped Rudy off his shoulder and held him out to Willow. She lightly stroked his head. And when he seemed to enjoy her attention, she took him into her lap.

“Well, I guess you’re pretty cute. Not really that much like a rat.”

This was the Willow he remembered. Cal had always maintained a menagerie at the little farm just outside town where he’d grown up, and Willow had always loved the animals. She only objected a little when he tried to make a pet out of a giant king snake he’d found in the garage.

Clem yipped once to be let in. And right after that, two more members of his household darted into the living room, probably curious about the screaming. The two cats hopped up on the sofa, eager to make the newcomer’s acquaintance.

“Goodness, are there more?” Willow asked.

“The orange one is October. The black-and-white one is Tyson.” Time enough later to tell her about the other members of his family, not all of which were cute and cuddly.

Willow scratched each of the cats, showing a bit of extra attention to Tyson’s left ear. Half of it was missing. “These guys look pretty battle-scarred.”

“They’re shelter cats. Wild as March hares when I got them.”

“They’re tame enough now.” Both cats were vying for Willow’s attention, trying to climb into her lap with the ferret. “Wait a minute. How come they don’t try to eat the ferret?”

Cal shrugged. “They know it’s not allowed. You have to have rules.” Unfortunately. he wanted to throw away the rules when it came to Willow. “October, Tyson, that’s enough.”

Both cats froze and looked at Cal.

“You heard me. Scat.”

They left Willow’s lap and sauntered away. Willow stared after them in amazement. “I never saw cats mind like that before.”

Again, Cal shrugged. “You can teach them things if you’re patient. You just have to learn how to think like a cat.” He picked up Rudy from Willow’s lap. The ferret squeaked in protest. He’d taken an instant liking to Willow, once he’d recovered from the fright of her screaming. “I’ll put him up. The coffee should be ready in a minute.”

WILLOW WATCHED as he exited the living room, the ferret slung casually over his shoulder. Her still-nameless date had the cutest butt she’d ever seen, even in a pair of oatmeal-colored dress trousers. She wondered what he would look like in snug, faded Levi’s, and the thought made her light-headed.

She hadn’t pegged him for an animal lover. Most of the cowboys she’d known over the years—and there were plenty in Cottonwood—thought of animals as commodities. Oh, they might have a slight thing for their horses. But cats and dogs and ferrets? It was like Wild Kingdom around here.

Cal had loved animals, too, she recalled. He’d taken in as many strays of all stripes as his mother would tolerate. That was why she always thought he would be such an excellent vet, like his father and grandfather before him. That was why she’d been so shocked and disappointed when she’d heard he dropped out of vet school.

It was an odd coincidence that Hank was an animal lover, too. She just must be attracted to that type of man, she reasoned. If there was an animal-lover gene, maybe she subconsciously recognized it and was attracted to the kindness that went along with it. She liked a strong, macho man as well as any girl, but she wouldn’t tolerate strength without a dash of kindness, too.

A man who was gentle and patient with animals would probably be a good father.

She sat up straighter as her skin prickled with awareness. Where had that thought come from? She wasn’t shopping for the future father of her children. Marriage and parenthood weren’t compatible with med school. They would be years down the line for her. It was especially inappropriate for her to be thinking those thoughts in connection with a man whose name she didn’t know.

This situation had gotten totally ridiculous. Maybe there was a clue here in his apartment….

She stood up and looked around for some stray mail, a magazine, maybe. But the only magazine she saw was TV Guide, and there was no address label.

She sighed. He was going to get suspicious if she called him “Hey, you.”

Hank returned a few moments later. “You want cream in your coffee?”

“No, black is fine.” She’d learned to drink it like that in college, pulling all-nighters when she literally didn’t have enough money for cream. Truthfully, she didn’t really want coffee right now.

She wanted Hank.

He brought her coffee in a thick, blue ceramic mug, then sat next to her, close but not touching. She blew on the coffee to cool it and took a sip. “Good.”

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

Only if we watch it while we’re making love.

The thought shocked her. When had she become so wanton? She wasn’t even sure she would like sex. Her one and only experience with it had been so horrible that for a long time she thought maybe she should just become a nun or a hermit.

But her hormones insisted that making love with Hank would definitely not be unpleasant. Quite the contrary. She could tell just by watching him that he would be slow and gentle, patient with her clumsy efforts, seeing to her comfort and pleasure before his own. Just as he could gentle a wild stray cat, he would calm her skittishness.

The silence had stretched uncomfortably. Willow knew she needed to tame her wayward thoughts before she said or did anything foolish. Her hormones were completely ’round the bend.

“Do you want to watch TV?” he tried again.

No. That was something staid married couples did because they were bored with each other. She wanted to rip off that starched blue-gray shirt and see what his bare chest looked like. “Sure.” Since her injury she found TV almost intolerable, since everyone had the same face. The few times she’d tried it, she’d been hopelessly confused.

They both leaned forward and reached for the TV Guide sitting on the coffee table. They collided, and half of Willow’s coffee sloshed out of her cup and onto her thigh. She cried out more in surprise than in pain; the coffee wasn’t that hot.

“Oh, my God, I’m sorry,” Hank said, jumping to his feet. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I just—”

“Your dress. It’s not ruined, is it?” He dragged her toward the kitchen. “Let’s rinse out the stain before it sets.” Once in the kitchen, he stuck a dishcloth under the cold water, then began daubing at the spot on her dress, which was perilously close to…well, to where he shouldn’t be touching.

Her body responded immediately, starting with a fireball between her legs that grew and radiated outward. Her breasts ached and felt too heavy, her insides quivered and her legs trembled. She leaned on the kitchen counter for support even as she closed her eyes and desperately wished that he would move his hand just a couple of inches to the left—

“Willow?”

She opened her eyes and saw Hank peering at her, concerned. But almost immediately his expression changed to one that more closely mirrored her own feelings. He’d seen the naked hunger in her face, in her eyes, and she feared—and hoped—he’d read her every lascivious thought.

And then she was in his arms and he was kissing her like he wanted to devour her, hot, demanding, commanding kisses, on her mouth and along her jaw and down her neck, his lips trailing fire wherever they went.

The comb fell out of her hair and the heavy mass tumbled down, making her feel even more wanton, like a virgin preparing for sacrifice. Not that this was any big sacrifice on her part. She’d wanted this from the moment this man had first taken her into his arms on the dance floor at the VFW Hall. Maybe she hadn’t consciously been aware that was what she wanted, but her body had known. Her body had been absolutely certain.

Willow wrapped her arms around Hank and buried her fingers in his hair. She would have melted into him if she could have, merged herself with him; that was how keen her craving for him was.

Finally, she understood everything. She understood the craziness that made some of her girlfriends go completely nuts for a guy, put up with being treated like dirt, or completely forget the rules of safe conduct. She understood taking a risk, fighting anything that got in a woman’s way.

It was for this, this feeling. A sensation that felt as if she were a soap bubble in the wind, about to burst.

“Willow.” Her name on his lips was more of a groan. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear.”

She knew that. She knew he had more on his mind than conquest. It had been her idea to come home with him, after all. She was the one who’d said she wanted to be alone with him. But her brain was short-circuiting, sending sparks everywhere in her body. She found it difficult to perform the mundane task of forming words.

But she wasn’t interested in words anyway. She pulled his shirttail out from his pants and shoved her hands inside, next to his skin. Oh, yeah. Smooth and warm, just like she’d thought it would be. Rock-hard muscles covered with velvet smooth skin.

Was he tan all over, like his face and hands? Did he sometimes work without a shirt, all hot and sweaty?

The thought almost made her swoon.

“Willow…”

“I want you, Ha—” She stopped herself just before she called him by the fictitious name she’d given him. How in the world would she explain that? He would think she’d gotten him confused with an old boyfriend.

“What?”

“I want your…your hands on me,” she improvised, though he was already touching her everywhere, caressing her breasts through her dress, squeezing her bottom. She could feel his arousal pressing against her pelvis, and her body twitched as her imagination conjured up an image of him inside her.

Surely it wouldn’t hurt, like it had before. The time she’d made love with Cal, she hadn’t been ready. She hadn’t been aroused because she didn’t even know what arousal was. She’d been tense and terrified, a little girl in a woman’s body who hadn’t been ready for sex.

She was ready now. She was past ready.

He worked the zipper of her dress down her back and slid his hands inside, doing exactly what she was doing to him. She knew that once clothes started to come off, it would be very hard to change her mind about this.

She wouldn’t change her mind. For whatever reason, this felt right to her. As if her body had been waiting her whole life to find this man. Maybe those were her hormones talking, rationalizing her outrageous behavior, but she didn’t care. She was entitled to act like a crazy fool once in her life.

“Willow.” Now her name sounded like a plea. “I feel like I’m rushing you.”

“You’re not.”

“We could wait—”

“I don’t want to wait.” Willow knew she needed to explain herself. So she pulled herself together long enough so that she could string a few coherent sentences together. “A couple of weeks ago, I almost died. You could have, too. If that experience has taught us anything, shouldn’t it be that we don’t know what the future will bring? Sometimes it doesn’t matter how carefully we plan for something or how cautious we are, it can all get screwed up in a heartbeat.”

“Oh, Willow.” He hugged her to him. “Nothing’s going to happen to us.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“We don’t have to rush.”

“We don’t have to wait,” she countered. If they waited, by tomorrow her sensible self might return and nix the whole thing. She simply couldn’t bear that thought.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, her eyes inexplicably moistening. Then she kissed him, pouring her heart and soul into the kiss. She felt like she’d known him forever. She’d always pooh-poohed the notion of soul mates, her scientific mind rejecting a notion that couldn’t be measured or proven. But if soul mates existed, she suspected she had found hers.

She didn’t need to know his name. She didn’t need to recognize his face. She knew this man on a deeper, elemental level.

Still locked in a kiss, Hank scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the kitchen. She thought they were going to the bedroom, but they didn’t make it that far. He stopped near the sofa and set her down.

Her dress was already half falling off. She shrugged out of it, and it pooled at her feet. She noticed, in a detached sort of way, how odd it was to be standing in a man’s apartment in nothing but her underthings. But she wasn’t embarrassed. The strangeness of it felt stimulating.

She shivered.

“Are you cold?”

Cold was the furthest thing from her mind. “No. Don’t stop.”

He nuzzled her neck as he unhooked her bra, struggling briefly with the fastener. She was glad he hadn’t just flicked it open one-handed. She liked to think that he hadn’t unfastened hundreds of girls’ bras before her. Of course, he would have more experience than her. Everyone did. Still, she wanted their lovemaking to be novel for him, as well as her.

Her bra landed on the floor. Then everything below her waist—slip, stockings, panties—were whisked down her legs. He pushed her onto the sofa so he could pull off her shoes, too. And she was gloriously naked with only her long hair to cover her, like Lady Godiva.

Not that she wanted to cover herself. Hank’s frank visual perusal of her body was like turning the heat up on the stove. He yanked his shirt the rest of the way off. Belt, pants, boxers, shoes, all dispensed with just as efficiently as he’d gotten rid of her clothes.

Oh, he was beautiful. Tan all over except around his hips. Just a little bit of blond, curly hair on his chest forming a rough diamond between his flat, brown nipples. And a scar near the center of his chest, still red and puckered.

Then she looked lower, at the evidence of his arousal, and she was glad she was sitting down because she really did feel faint. She wanted to touch him, to see how really hard he was, to feel him pulsing with desire. She settled for holding out her hand to him, beckoning him to lie with her on the sofa.

“I have to get something first.” He surprised her by turning and walking away. For the second time that evening she watched his butt as he exited the living room. Only this time it was a naked butt, and all she could do was sigh. In a few moments, those buns of steel would be hers, all hers. She quivered again.

He returned mere seconds later and set something on the floor by the sofa. Willow realized he’d gotten protection and felt even better about him. She hadn’t even thought of birth control, ample evidence of just how far gone she was. Completely insane.

She still didn’t care.

The sofa was big and wide, so there was plenty of room for them to lie side by side. Hank kissed her some more as he stroked and kneaded her breasts, pausing every now and then to kiss her nipples, teasing them to hard peaks with his clever tongue. The stimulation was almost too much for her. She made strange sounds in her throat as he stroked her belly and then the dark curls of her mound. Her entire concentration became focused on those few square inches of her body as, with each stroke, he grew bolder, inching closer to those once forbidden areas. Each time he dipped a finger to caress the soft folds between her legs, she gasped. And then he was gently probing, exploring, as tension built inside her. It felt as if she were breathing in gallons and gallons of air and forgetting to exhale.

All it took was one innocent brush against the ultra-sensitive nub of her sex, and she exploded. Wave after wave of ecstasy poured over her, shimmering outward in golden ripples. She grabbed a pillow from the sofa and pressed it over her own face to stifle the screams, so his landlords wouldn’t come running in the mistaken belief she was being killed.

Only she was dying, in a sense. Petite morte, that was what the French called a sexual climax. Little death. She’d learned that in some literature class, but it only now made sense.

Hank slid his hands underneath her shoulders and hugged her to him, grinning with obvious delight.

“Proud of yourself, are you?” she said when she could again form words. “That was a bit sudden. I would have waited for you, you know.”

“Simultaneous climax is overrated. Maybe even a myth. I prefer going one at a time. That way I can enjoy yours, as well as mine.”

She threw one leg over his, bringing his arousal into close contact with her. “Then let’s move on to yours.” She spoke the words boldly, but she was still a little apprehensive.

He kissed her, a sweet, soft kiss, then reached for the packet on the floor. In moments, he’d sheathed himself.

He coaxed her legs open, not rushing, ever patient. Perhaps he could sense her slight tension. But soon his languid strokes to her thighs and belly relaxed her. And when he moved atop her, she didn’t even blink when he slid inside her, smooth as silk.

No pain. Not even slight discomfort. Just the exquisite sensation of fullness, of completion.

Then he began to move, and it wasn’t complete at all. It was just starting and it got even better. With each stroke, she felt him more deeply.

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