“I appreciate you trying to make me feel better. I’m sorry I woke you.”

Laura shivered.

Sean caught that and said slowly, “Why don’t you snuggle down and get some rest? I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

Laura marveled at how easily he’d read her mind, that she dreaded being alone after a nightmare. Scooting down inside the covers, she let him arrange her pillows more comfortably. “Thank you,” she whispered, and closed her eyes.

Sean lay gazing at her in the dim glow of the night-light. She was every bit as lovely as he’d said she was. And she was going through a bad time. She needed someone to help her through it. And as he settled in with his arms around her, he thought that maybe he was that someone.

There was that protective urge again. He hadn’t felt that way in a very long time.

Maybe it was a good sign.

Dear Reader,

During the warm days of July, what better way to kick back and enjoy the best of summer reading than with six stellar stories from Special Edition as we continue to celebrate Silhouette’s 20th Anniversary all year long!

With The Pint-Sized Secret, Sherryl Woods continues to delight her readers with another winning installment of her popular miniseries AND BABY MAKES THREE: THE DELACOURTS OF TEXAS. Reader favorite Lindsay McKenna starts her new miniseries, MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: MAVERICK HEARTS, with Man of Passion, her fiftieth book. A stolen identity leads to true love in Patricia Thayer’s compelling Whose Baby Is This? And a marriage of convenience proves to be anything but in rising star Allison Leigh’s Married to a Stranger in her MEN OF THE DOUBLE-C RANCH miniseries. Rounding off the month is celebrated author Pat Warren’s Doctor and the Debutante, where the healthy dose of romance is just what the physician ordered, while for the heroine in Beth Henderson’s Maternal Instincts, a baby-sitting assignment turns into a practice run for motherhood—and marriage.

Hope you enjoy this book and the other unforgettable stories Special Edition is happy to bring you this month!

All the best,

Karen Taylor Richman,

Senior Editor

Doctor and the Debutante
Pat Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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This book is dedicated to Brooks Rector, a dear friend of my husband’s for years, and now mine, too.

Happy reading!

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Silhouette Books

Montana Mavericks

Outlaw Lovers #6

PAT WARREN,

mother of four, lives in Arizona with her travel agent husband and a lazy white cat. She’s a former newspaper columnist whose lifetime dream was to become a novelist. A strong romantic streak, a sense of humor and a keen interest in developing relationships led her to try romance novels, with which she feels very much at home.

Contents

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 One

The snow had been coming down for at least three hours, lightly at first, then more heavily. Hands in the back pockets of his corduroy slacks, Sean Reagan stood looking out the front window of his cabin in the Gray Mountains of Arizona, a frown on his face as he watched the wind hurl a mound of snow onto the porch. The temperature had undoubtedly dropped since he’d taken a walk several hours ago. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly the weather could change in winter this far north.

Then again, what difference did the weather make? Sean thought as he crossed the big open room and bent to throw another log into the fireplace. He was inside, warm and safe. And alone, at least for this second week in February, a ritual he’d begun four years ago. Fortunately Dr. Jonah Evans, his partner in their busy OB-GYN medical practice, understood Sean’s need to get away at this particular time and covered for him.

It wasn’t a vacation, not really. The thing was Sean hadn’t much use for people who constantly felt sorry for themselves or grieved in public. So each year, he set aside this one week where he could weep in private if that’s how he felt, or rail at the fates for changing his life so radically. Alone up here, he could chop wood, take long walks, read a book and hopefully heal. Then he could go back and get on with his life. Or so the theory went.

Sean had built the cabin himself and knew it was rock solid. Some would call it rustic and remote, sitting as it was in the midst of evergreens and rocks large enough to be called boulders. There was a stream that ran along the back perimeter with water so pure and clean you could count every pebble. The evenings and early mornings he’d sat on his covered porch and listened to the birds and small wildlife scurrying about in the tall grass had been some of the happiest of his life.

But that had been then and this was now.

He’d learned the hard way that not everyone shared his pleasure in seclusion and solitude, in the simple life, in hard work and patiently moving toward a goal.

Straightening, he dusted off his hands and decided to warm some soup. But a loud crashing sound from outside had him stopping in his tracks and cocking his head to listen more closely. Was it just the wind and the storm escalating? Or could a tree limb have broken loose and fallen onto his attached garage where his Mercedes was parked? Moving to the window again, he tried to see out, but the snow was coming down thick and heavy. Reluctantly, he decided he’d better go check.

He tugged on his boots, then his sheepskin jacket, zipping it up against the swirling snow as he ventured out, pulling on his leather gloves before closing the door. The wind howled past, the snow blowing every which way. Stepping off the porch, he sank into a drift almost to his knees, making walking difficult. Squinting as he looked up along the roofline, he could see no damage to the garage. Still, something had made that noise. There were trees all around—pine and cottonwood and paloverdes—but he couldn’t spot any fallen limbs.

Only late afternoon and yet it was growing dark rapidly with no sign the snow would let up anytime soon. Already he could barely make out his driveway leading to the one-lane road two miles in from the highway. Trudging out aways, trying to spot anything amiss, Sean felt a clump of cold white stuff fall beneath his collar, causing him to shiver. Suddenly he noticed some wide tracks veering off the driveway that seemed to be fresh. That was odd.

As he gazed off to the left, he saw lights glinting off something silvery coming from the hillside below. Curiosity had Sean stepping gingerly along the incline toward the light. Closer now, he could see more tracks in the snow that were definitely recent, wide tire tracks.

Through the snow-covered branches, he peered down and was able to make out a large vehicle stuck between two trees near the bottom of the gully. Smoky steam was spiraling up from beneath a crushed hood. Getting closer, he saw that it was a late model silver Bronco that had probably hit a tree, then done a complete 180, swiveling about in the slippery snow, its back end wedged in tightly, its nose pointing upward.

Hurrying over, Sean peeked in through the closest window. A woman was slumped over on her side in the front seat, her thick hair hiding her face. A fat tree limb had broken through the windshield, probably on first impact, stopping mere centimeters from her very still form. He could see no one else in the vehicle.

Medical instincts on alert, Sean knew he had to see if she was alive, to check out her injuries. He tried to open the driver’s door, but it was too close to a large fir. Moving as fast as humanly possible in the deep snow, he went around to the other side where there was a little more room between the passenger side and a tall pine. But the door was locked.

Worried about the woman trapped inside, that she might be bleeding to death while he figured out how to rescue her, he looked around for any fallen branches large enough to break the side window. He could see none.

Cursing under his breath, he retraced his steps to the cabin. He’d need some tools to break a window or pry open a door. But the overhead door of the garage was blocked by mounds of windblown snow. Rushing, he entered his house and all but ran through to the connecting door to the garage. Grabbing a hammer and crowbar, he made his painstaking way back to the Bronco.

The woman hadn’t moved.

It took two swings to break the passenger side window enough so he could reach in and unlock the door. Wedging the door open as far as the pine tree would allow and propping it in place with the crowbar, Sean leaned into the front seat and yanked off one glove. He brushed her hair aside and placed two fingers on her throat, searching for a pulse. At last, he felt her heartbeat, thready but definitely there. He let out a relieved breath.

If she’d been driving a smaller car, she probably wouldn’t be breathing. The heavy Bronco had saved her life.

Decision time. To remove her might make any internal injuries worse, yet he couldn’t leave her there with the blowing snow and the temperature well below freezing. The chances of getting an EMS unit here quickly in this storm were slim to none. He’d have to do his best to get her inside his cabin and tend to her injuries.

As if to remind him to quit stalling, the merciless wind sent a rush of snow right at him, powdering his face and hair. The storm was building in intensity. Sean knew from past experience that residents up here could be marooned for days before help could arrive to dig them out. He was the woman’s only hope. And he was a doctor, dedicated to saving lives.

There’d never really been any other choice.

Carefully, he leaned back in, reached over and unbuckled her seat belt. Slowly, he eased the woman’s upper torso away from the protruding branch and the steering wheel, maneuvering her toward himself. As her head fell back, he saw blood from a wound on her forehead, but he’d known she’d probably have some lacerations from the flying glass of the windshield, if not from the impact itself. With no small effort in the cramped space, he finally got her shoulders through the door, but he couldn’t reach back in for her legs.

Praying that he wasn’t adding to her injuries, he dragged her through the confined space until she was totally free of the vehicle. Bracing his booted feet in the slippery snow, he bent at the knees and managed to hoist her up into his arms. Thankfully, she was a small woman. Her head angled toward his shoulder, and she mumbled something he couldn’t quite make out. Something that sounded like Max or Mex.

Had he missed someone, perhaps a child? As best he could with the woman in his arms, he squinted into the back seat, searching for a tiny form, a movement, a sound. No, there was only a leather handbag on the floor next to a somewhat tattered blanket.

It seemed a mile to the cabin door as he carried his dead-weight burden in nearly knee-deep snow up the incline and across the unshoveled driveway. At six-one and a healthy thirty-one years old, Sean was in good shape, yet he still found the going rough. Boosting her up for a better hold, he climbed the porch steps and almost dropped her legs as he struggled to open the door.

At last inside, he carried her to the couch in front of the fireplace and placed her on it as gently as he was able. Letting out a deep breath, he shook the snow off his hair, then went back to close the door, remove his gloves and toe off his boots. Unzipping his coat as he hurried back to her, he saw that blood streaked her face and she was quite wet from the snow that had fallen in on her through the broken windshield and the walk to the cabin. The crash he’d heard in the cabin had undoubtedly been the Bronco which meant she hadn’t lain out there too long.

Still, hypothermia can set in quickly when an injured person’s blood pressure drops, Sean knew. Quickly, he whipped off his jacket and went to his bedroom, returning with his medical bag and a towel. Shifting her into a better position on the oversize couch, he again checked her pulse, pleased to find it even stronger than before. She looked to be somewhere in her twenties, which would definitely be in her favor.

Gently he pushed up first one eyelid, then the other. Pupils okay, a good sign. Her eyes were large and deep blue. Probably one of her best assets, Sean thought absently.

Dampening a sterile gauze pad with alcohol, he brushed back her long black hair and cleaned the wound on her forehead. Quite deep but still just a superficial cut. He put antibiotic ointment on a clean gauze pad, placed it on the wound, then taped it in place. Next he eased off her leather jacket. As he lifted her, she moaned out loud, her face contorting as if in pain. He tossed the jacket aside. Underneath, she had on a blue sweater with designer jeans and leather flats on her sockless feet.

Her clothes weren’t off the usual racks, Sean noticed. They were expensive and in good taste. She had a gold chain around her neck that was heavy and very real. On her right hand, she wore an amethyst ring in a simple gold setting that didn’t come cheap.

Moving his hands very carefully, he trailed them over her body from her head to her toes, letting her groans tell him as much as his fingers learned. He was more doctor than man now, his experienced touch trying to ascertain the extent of her injuries. Finishing, he leaned back, studying her face.

Probably a concussion if she’d hit her head hard enough to sustain that cut, hopefully not too severe. There were some bruises forming on her face, and she might wake up to a couple of black eyes, but no other cuts visible. Her right shoulder was dislocated, her arm hanging limply at her side. Her left ankle was swollen, but didn’t appear to be broken.

Nothing too serious if the concussion wasn’t bad. He’d fixed many a dislocated shoulder in his residency days and ER rotation—painful but not life threatening.

Gently, he pulled up her sweater and saw red marks on her stomach that would surely darken into some pretty nasty bruises from where the steering wheel had slammed into her. The seat belt had kept her upper body in place, yet her right shoulder had still dislocated. Without the belt, she’d have been tossed onto the floor like a rag doll, sustaining far more serious injuries. Or her head might have smashed into that jutting tree limb.

All in all, she appeared to be one lucky lady, Sean concluded.

She didn’t look comfortable, so he settled her into the soft folds of the corduroy couch, adjusting pillows around her. Again she moaned, mumbling, and this time he could make out a word. Max. There’d been no one else in the Bronco, of that he was certain. Was Max her husband? She wore no wedding ring, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t married. Many of the nurses he worked with chose not to wear their rings, for whatever reason.

Gazing at the woman as a man and not just a doctor, Sean saw that she was beautiful with all that lush black hair, high cheekbones and thick lashes dark against her pale skin. He couldn’t help but wonder where she’d been headed in such a storm, where she was from and who if anyone was waiting for her arrival. Maybe Max? If not a husband, was he perhaps a lover she was rushing to meet?

None of his business, he decided, frowning.

He reached for the towel and gently patted her face dry, then used it to dry her hair. As he shifted her, she shivered and began shaking, probably from shock. He set his medicine bag on the floor, then went to get an afghan his mother had made. Laying the cover over her, he tucked the ends around her feet after removing her shoes.

She should wake up soon, he thought, unless he’d missed something in his somewhat hasty exam.

Returning to tend the fire, Sean put two more logs on, then hunched down and poked at the wood, working up a strong blaze. His pant legs were almost dry, but his socks were wet from padding around the cabin in the snow tracks made by his wet boots.

With one last look at his unexpected guest, he went to his bedroom for a pair of dry socks.

Pain intruded into her consciousness and made itself known. It seemed everywhere—her head, her shoulder, her ankle, her stomach. Sharp, throbbing, intense. She tried to move, but the pain stopped her. She tried to sink back into the black oblivion of sleep, but the pain pushed her awake.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. Hazy vision. Blinking, she tried to clear it. When finally she did, she recognized nothing.

She was in a large room on a couch, covered with a blue-and-white afghan. There was an oak coffee table nearby, a braided oval rug over plank flooring, dancing flames in a huge fireplace. The heat felt good for she was cold, shivering.

Where was she?

She heard a door open, footsteps. Who? Though the pain sliced through her, she sank deeper into the couch, fear causing her heart to race. Then he came into view.

She sized him up in seconds: tall, over six feet, broad shoulders, sandy hair cut short, a lean, tan unsmiling face. He wore a black turtleneck sweater over gray cords and leather moccasins. He stopped by the couch, looking down at her with blue-gray eyes filled with questions. Unable to hide the fear in her eyes, she clutched the afghan in trembling fists and stared back at him.

“Glad you’re finally awake,” he said, pulling a footstool over to the couch and sitting down.

She withdrew deeper into the cushions surrounding her. “Who are you?” she managed, her voice raspy. Her gaze did a quick circle of the cabin. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the Gray Mountains. I’m Sean Reagan and this is my cabin on Hollow Oak Road. You had an accident. Your Bronco swerved off the road and hit a couple of trees.” He watched her take that in, digest it.

“Yes, the Gray Mountains. I remember I was on my way to my family’s place on Ridgeway Road.”

He nodded, recognizing the street. “You turned about a mile too soon. Ridgeway’s just north of me.”

“It was snowing hard and I couldn’t recognize anything familiar.” Fear hadn’t left her altogether. “You…you live here alone?” Please let there be a wife, a mother, somebody.

Sean was well aware what was bothering her. He softened his expression, trying to relieve her mind. “Actually, I live in Scottsdale. I built this cabin for times when I want to get away from the city. I’m a doctor, an obstetrician.” He pointed to his bag on the floor next to the couch. “Quite legit. My office is on Scottsdale Road.”

He watched her face as she assessed that information. “I could show you my hospital I.D.” He finally smiled. “Honest, I’m not an ax murderer.”

The smile made him look less menacing, but she didn’t return it as she glanced down at the gray bag, still wary. “I thought all doctors had little black bags.”

“Not really. They come in all colors.” He shifted closer. “I’d like to examine you again, now that you’re awake.”

The startled look was back on her face. “How do you mean? You…examined me?” She had trouble thinking of this very attractive, very masculine man as a medical person.

“Please relax. I’m a doctor. And I didn’t undress you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Without waiting for her permission, he forced her eyes wider to check her pupils then took out his stethoscope and listened to her heart and lungs. Her breathing was a bit fast as was her heartbeat, probably because she was still nervous about him.

With careful fingers, he touched her shoulder and she cried out. “This is your worst injury, a dislocated shoulder. Fixable but with some discomfort.” His hand went to her ankle, examining the tender swollen flesh. “Just a sprain but you’d best stay off it for awhile.” He indicated the gauze on her forehead. “That’s a cut I’ve already cleaned and bandaged.” He tapped lightly on her stomach through the sweater. “You’ve got some bruising here, from the steering wheel. Not serious, but painful.”

Sean watched her hand snake under her sweater as she realized he must have looked her over quite thoroughly.

He’s a doctor, she reminded herself. She raised a hand to check out the forehead bandage, then let her fingers drift into her hair. “My head really hurts.”

He nodded. “You undoubtedly have a concussion, but not a serious one. I’ll give you something for the pain.”

So many questions whirling around in her brain. “How’d I get in here? You say you found me?”

“I heard the crash and went out to check. I got you out and carried you here.” He could see concern and lingering pain in those midnight blue eyes, and wondered how they’d look when she laughed, when she was happy.

“I…thank you.” It was the least she could say.

Pausing, he studied her face. Her color was better, her complexion not so pale. “What in the world were you doing out in such a storm? Were you rushing to meet someone at the Ridgeway cabin? Because, up here, when it storms like this, the phones generally go out for days at a time. Is someone waiting for you—a parent, a husband, a boyfriend?”

She frowned. Her father was generally too busy to wonder where she was, her husband was now an ex and she hadn’t had a boyfriend in…well, a very long time.

She was honestly trying to remember, but everything was oddly hazy. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t going to meet anyone. I often go to the cabin alone. I love it there, like a secure haven. It was raining in Scottsdale when I left but I never dreamed I’d drive into a snowstorm.” She closed her eyes, willing the memory to return. “I remember I was in a hurry. That much seems clear. I had this urgency to get away, from something or someone. But I’m not sure who or why.” Her eyes opened and met his, filled with distress. “It’s really odd. I can’t seem to remember any more.”

“Not so odd. Can you think of anyone you’re afraid of?”

She just looked more confused. “I don’t know.”

No use pushing right now. She’d remember in time. Sean studied her huge blue eyes, the kind that could make a strong man weak. Then there was that cloud of jet-black hair and her lovely face without so much as a blemish, not even a freckle. To say nothing of her very feminine curves beneath the bulky sweater, her chest rising and falling with her nervous breathing.

He scooted the stool back a bit. “You haven’t told me your name,” he reminded her. Did she even remember it?

Good manners had been drilled into her from childhood. They had her setting aside her fear and responding to him. After all, he was a doctor, a caregiver. She had no reasonable reason to be afraid of him. The fear she felt was lingering from…from whatever it was she’d left behind.

“I’m sorry. Laura Marshall. I have an interior design studio in Old Scottsdale. My father’s Owen Marshall. He’s…”

“I’ve heard of him. He’s a Realtor.” Not just any Realtor, but one who owned half a dozen or so residential offices plus a large commercial division. He should have guessed from her clothes. Her family had pots of money. And yet, here she was, running from something. Or someone.

“Yes, that’s right. I decorate the company’s model homes, but I have a private clientele, as well.”

“Do you live with your father?” Sean had never met Owen Marshall, but he’d read that the man was widowed and lived in a large sprawling home on Camelback Mountain.

Something flickered in her eyes, a quick distaste, then was gone so quickly he wasn’t certain he’d seen it at all. “No, not since I left for college. I have a town house in Scottsdale in Old Town.”

“I’m not far from you. I have an older house on Mockingbird Lane that I’ve been renovating. Near Judson School in Paradise Valley.”

Finally, she believed him. “I know exactly where that is.” But a frown creased her forehead. “Why is it I can remember personal details, but not why I was in such a hurry to leave town?”

“It’s called traumatic amnesia. Someone who’s been traumatized by something fearful can’t recall the hurtful details but remembers common facts about her life. The rest will come back to you in time. Maybe gradually, or perhaps all at once. It’s the mind’s way of protecting you from an event too painful to recall. Something will trigger the memory when you’re ready to remember.”

Laura stared at his face, thinking he looked sincere and concerned. “You really are a doctor, aren’t you? I’m sorry I doubted you, but…”

“You don’t have to apologize. You had a frightful experience, then a bad accident and you woke up in a stranger’s house with injuries. Anyone would be skeptical.”

“My Bronco. Is it in bad shape?”

He shrugged. “Depends what you mean by bad. You must have veered off the road and down this incline, hit a small tree, then the Bronco spun around and wound up with its back end wedged between two trees. I think it can be repaired. If you’d have been driving a smaller car, you might not be here talking with me.”

She shuddered at the close call. “I just bought the Bronco about six months ago. I used to drive a BMW two-seater. But I have to carry around all these samples—carpeting, drapery, paint swatches, wood panels. I guess it was a good decision to switch.”

“Amen to that.”

Laura shifted on the couch, attempting to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through her shoulder. “Oh!”

“I think we’d better get your shoulder back in place,” Sean told her, getting to his feet. “I take it you’ve never had this type of injury before?”

Her face registered discomfort and reluctance. “No. How exactly do we get it back in place?” Laura had a feeling she wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to suggest.

“You’re going to have to trust me.” He bent to help her stand, moving gently, aware of her many sources of pain and that her ankle might prevent her from standing without help. “Put your good arm around my shoulder and hold on.” When she did, he lifted her into his arms.

Laura bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry out with the pain that stabbed like a knife through her shoulder. Her arm felt limp and useless. Despite that, as he carried her across the room, she couldn’t help but be aware of how strong he was, holding her as easily as if she were a child. His hands were large and powerful. She could scarcely imagine this big man delivering tiny babies. She’d always pictured obstetricians as middle-aged, comfortably solid, inviting confidence not speculation. Sort of neuter, sexless, harmless.

Sean Reagan was anything but. With his ruddy complexion, windblown sandy hair and athletic build, he looked more like a man who worked outdoors chopping down trees rather than bringing new lives into the world. Unbidden, her gaze settled on his mouth. Full lips, a small dimple in one corner, thoroughly tempting.

Lord, what was wrong with her, thinking sexy thoughts about a man she’d just met? That bonk on the head must have rattled her more than she’d thought. But there was a dormant sexuality about him that, even in her bruised and battered state, made her very keenly aware that she was a woman.

She didn’t need the reminder just now.

At the paneled wall, Sean stopped to explain. “I’m going to set you on your feet and brace you with my body up against the wall since I know your one ankle won’t hold your weight. I need you to hold very still, and I’m going to tell you now, this will hurt. But only for a few seconds.”

Eyes wide, Laura stared at him. “What are you going to do?” Laura remembered vaguely reading a story where someone had fixed a dislocated shoulder for a patient. It hadn’t been a pretty scene.

“The ball of your shoulder has slipped out of the socket. The only way to fix it is to yank really hard on your arm and allow the ball to jump back into place. Can you handle that?”

She wasn’t sure. “What if you yank and it doesn’t go in?”

He almost smiled. “It will. I’ve done this many times.”

“Ever lose anyone doing it?”

Now he did smile. “Keep that sense of humor.” Carefully, he stood her up and held on while she settled most of her weight on the uninjured foot. Only she was wobbly, perhaps even a little dizzy, and her knees kept buckling.

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry.” He aligned their bodies so that he was very close up against her, keeping her from sliding down by pressing himself into her as she stood with her back to the wall. The top of her head came to just under his chin. The warm womanly scent of her drifted to him as her hair nuzzled against his nose. Sean swallowed hard and dipped his head back. He’d better hurry before he embarrassed himself. “Ready?”

She felt light-headed, whether from her combined injuries, her painful arm or the reaction of being all but glued to this very male stranger, her breasts flattened against his chest, her ear pressed to his pounding heart, she couldn’t have said. “Let’s get this over with, please.” Praying she wouldn’t faint on him, Laura mentally braced herself.

Sean eased his upper body slightly away from her, placed one arm diagonally across her chest to keep her upright and took hold of her right arm with his left hand. Counting to three, he yanked hard and heard the pop as the ball slipped back into her shoulder socket. It was almost drowned out by Laura’s sharp cry.

Disliking having to hurt her any more than she was already hurting, he scooped her up into his arms and held her close, letting her absorb some of his strength. He’d always been a sucker for a woman in pain. Her face was again very pale and pinched, her eyes closed. She cradled her arm against her chest. “Are you all right?”

Just then, all the lamps went out, the furnace clicked off and the only light came from the soft glow of the fireplace clear across the room, the only sound that of their labored breathing.

Chapter Two

“Oh, no,” Laura muttered. What a time for a power outage.

“Just wait a minute,” Sean said, holding on to her. In seconds, there was a shuddering sound, then a large click. The lights blinked back on, and the furnace made a whooshing noise before resuming. “The generator kicked in,” he explained. “I have it as a backup since these winter storms often knock out our power.” He carried her back to the couch, easing her down carefully. “I’m sorry I had to hurt you.”

Laura held her injured arm close to her body, hugging it. “Had to be done.” She licked her lips, struggling with a sudden wave of nausea. Swallowing hard, she looked up at him, beginning to panic. “Where’s your bathroom? I think I’m going to be sick.”

She did look a little greenish. “Not far. Let me help you.” He slipped an arm around her and half-carried, half-supported her to a door off the kitchen. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me,” he said, directing her inside, leaving the door slightly ajar so he could hear. He didn’t want her passing out on him.

Poor kid, Sean thought, walking away, giving her some privacy. Shock often brought on nausea. The jolt of repositioning her shoulder had likely been the last straw for her battered system. He wandered over to the front window. It was still coming down just as hard as ever. At this rate, her Bronco would be all but hidden by morning.

Sean walked over to the phone, picked it up to check. Sure enough, it was out, and would be for God only knew how long. Hands in his pockets, he slowly paced the perimeter of the large room, reluctantly admitting that he was stuck with his uninvited guest for quite some time.

Lousy timing. He wasn’t an uncharitable person, and it wasn’t that he didn’t want to help someone hurt and stranded. But he’d had a purpose in coming to the cabin at this particular time, and her arrival messed up his plans. Maybe it was for the best, he thought with a shrug. His partner had repeatedly told Sean what he thought of his annual pilgrimages, that they did more harm than good, and perhaps Jonah was right. Yet each year, as the fifteenth of February approached, Sean would feel compelled to return.

Glancing toward the bathroom door, he wondered how she was doing in there. And how she’d handle being marooned in a strange place with a melancholy man.

Laura splashed cold water on her face, then grabbed a hand towel to dry off. Standing with most of her weight on one foot, she leaned into the sink and stared at her image in the wall mirror. Oh, Lord, was that a black eye? Just what she needed. Hair a mess, face pale, eyes reflecting fatigue and remnants of fear. She wasn’t a beauty to begin with, and now this.

What on earth was she doing here in the house of a sexy stranger who, although he’d been kind, looked as if he wished she’d stayed home? Laura wished she had, too, except for a lingering uneasiness about the home she’d left behind so hastily. How had her life turned into such a chaotic mess in such a short time?

She finger-combed her hair back off her face, realizing that her head hurt too much just now to try to figure things out. She checked the medicine chest and found no new toothbrushes. Mostly shaving stuff, toothpaste, a bottle of aspirin and mouthwash. And a packet of birth control pills. Now that was odd for a man living alone.

Then again, maybe he didn’t live alone some of the time.

She used the mouthwash and felt fresher, but she wished she didn’t have to go out and face Sean. How embarrassing, to get sick like that. She reminded herself he was a doctor, but the reminder didn’t help. He simply didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a doctor. She would never choose a doctor so young and handsome, let him poke and prod her with her wearing only a skimpy gown.

Grimacing, she hobbled to the door and opened it.

He was standing at the window watching the snow and probably wishing he hadn’t gone out and found her. Yet when he turned to look at her, his face registered what seemed to be genuine concern as he walked over to her.

“Are you feeling better?” Sean asked, noticing the bruised look about her huge blue eyes. The right eye was definitely turning black.

Involuntarily, her face flushed. “Yes. I’m so sorry. I never get sick like that, but…”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, slipping a supportive arm around her before she lost her balance. “Shock does that to people. How’s your shoulder?”

“Sore,” she answered, allowing him to help her back to the couch where she sat down gratefully. She’d give anything if he’d go about his business and just let her lie here. A short nap and she was sure she’d feel all right again.

“Can I get you something to eat?”

The mere mention had her stomach churning. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” She hated this feeling of helplessness, of not being able to remember, of needing assistance. Her ankle was throbbing, but she wouldn’t let on. Doctor or not, the man would soon tire of her aches and pains, her complaints, if he hadn’t already.

Sean ignored her polite refusal of food. She needed something in her stomach if he was to give her a pain pill or she might get sick again. “I’d been about to warm some soup before I heard the crash and went out. I could make a sandwich. There’s tuna salad and…”

“Tuna? Oh, heavens!” Laura’s voice was agitated.

“What is it?” he asked. How could the mention of tuna upset her?

“Max, my cat. He was in the Bronco with me.”

Sean frowned. “Are you sure? I looked into the back seat and I didn’t see anything but a large handbag and an old blanket on the floor.”

“That’s Max’s blanket. He was probably hiding under it.” Panic colored her voice. “What if he’s hurt? Or if he got out? He’ll freeze to death in this storm.”

“I’ll go look.” Reluctant resignation tinged every word. A cat. She would have a cat.

“I…I hate to ask you, but he’s ten years old. He’s not used to fending for himself and…”

“Don’t worry.” Sean was already pulling on his boots. “If he’s out there, I’ll find him.” Macho man, taking on the world. Was he nuts, making such a promise? He shouldered into his jacket. “You’re absolutely certain he was in the Bronco with you?” After all, her memory was spotty at best.

“Yes, positively.” She remembered grabbing her purse and scooping Max into her arms, then hurrying to the Bronco, her need to get away uppermost in her mind. She’d been afraid of…of what? Damn, why couldn’t she remember the rest? “You’re awfully nice to go back out there.”

That he was, a truly nice guy. Wordlessly, Sean zipped up and went out. He didn’t even like cats. Dogs were more his thing. One day, he’d get a dog, when he could be home more. He didn’t feel it was fair to coop up an animal all day, not with the hours Sean worked. Head bent against the wind and blowing snow, he made his way toward the incline.

From the couch, Laura twisted about, gazing out the window across the room. The snowflakes were so thick she could scarcely make out anything. She couldn’t blame Sean for being annoyed at going back out in that. But they couldn’t let Max die, which he surely would if he wasn’t found soon.

With no small effort, she shifted painfully until she was lying down on the couch, then pulled the afghan over herself. She ached so much she couldn’t even define where it hurt most. To distract herself, Laura gazed around the room.

It was big with large, comfortable furniture, the couch she was on and two deep chairs facing the bricked hearth and the crackling fire. For the first time, she noticed a framed drawing hanging above the fieldstone fireplace. Laura’s studio in Scottsdale was next to an art gallery, and she recognized that this drawing had been done in pastel chalks.

A young boy no more than three years old was standing alongside a gnarled tree. His hair was blond and his smile mischievous. From one small hand dangled a bedraggled brown bunny with one ear missing. An old-fashioned red wagon sat off to the side. She was no expert, but the picture was well done, seemingly drawn by someone who loved the boy. Laura wondered if the subject was Sean as a child.

Her gaze swept to the far left where a serviceable kitchen was set off by a counter with two high-backed stools and, off to the side, a maple table with four captain’s chairs. There were three closed doors off the kitchen, the middle one the bathroom she’d used, the other two probably leading to bedrooms. A nice compact cabin, the walnut-paneled walls lending a cozy warmth. It lacked a woman’s touch, though, with no curtains on the windows, no photos on the end tables, no cloth on the sturdy oak table. The half dozen pillows on the couch were the only hint of softness.

Definitely a man’s retreat, Laura decided, struggling with a yawn. Leaning back, she spotted an easel facing away from her in front of an overstuffed bookcase off to the right. Was Sean the artist or perhaps someone who visited him? None of her business, she decided, closing her eyes.

What was keeping Sean?

Darkness had settled in, but the whiteness of the snow allowed Sean to see. The drifts were thigh high, however, which made the going very slow. And treacherous, he thought as he slid down the embankment and stopped just short of the almost buried Bronco.

Cursing under his breath, he scrambled to his feet, feeling cold, impatient and annoyed. He didn’t even want to think about what he’d do if Max wasn’t in the vehicle. If the animal had gotten out, his paw prints would have been covered over by now. The thought of tramping about in this storm looking for some old cat that could be anywhere didn’t thrill him.

With gloved hands, he scraped accumulated snow from the passenger door and managed to wedge it open again. Ducking inside, he knelt on the front seat and looked around. He picked up the large leather shoulder bag thinking Laura might need it. No luggage anywhere, but then she’d said she’d left in a hurry. On the floor he noticed a box of assorted tiles. On the back seat were material remnants and three large books of wallpaper samples. Sean remembered what she’d said about the blanket and gingerly picked up one end, whipping it to the side.

He heard a hissing sound, then a paw lashed out at him, the claws digging into his leather gloves. Yellow eyes peered up at him, looking unfriendly and combative. Max was shorthaired, yellow and beige, kind of skinny and obviously frightened. “Okay, shhh. You’re okay,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. The cat hissed again, louder.

“Look, Max, I’m a friend, honest.” Feeling foolish trying to pacify a stubborn cat in a tangled wreck of a vehicle in a raging snowstorm, Sean leaned forward and grabbed Max under his front legs, maneuvering him into a body hug, sharp claws pointed away from him. Pushing back, he ignored the cat’s protests as he backed out of the Bronco and shoved the door shut with his hip. The strap of Laura’s shoulder bag dangled from one arm.

Max struggled as cold snow enveloped them both, but Sean held on. He’d have put him inside his jacket, but he knew the cat would start clawing him. So he trudged back up the incline, realizing that he now had two guests he hadn’t been prepared for. “Listen, if you stop fighting me, I’ll give you a dish of tuna for dinner. How’s that?” Max told him what he could do with his offer in no uncertain hissy terms.

“Okay, chum,” Sean said, high-stepping through the snow. “Your loss.”

By the time he stomped some of the snow from his boots and propelled his way into the cabin, Sean was soaking wet from the waist down, and the silly cat was still hissing at him. He wished he could say that seeing Laura’s relieved face was worth his effort, but Sean didn’t think so.

“Here you go,” he said, thrusting Max into her lap and laying her bag on the floor.

“Oh, thank you, thank you.” Mindful of her sore shoulder, she hugged the frightened animal and cooed to him. “Max, Max, I’m so sorry. You’ll be fine, baby.” The cat allowed her to soothe him, but he shot Sean a look that seemed to say this was all his fault.

Grumbling under his breath about the inequities of life where a mangy cat gets hugged and he, the rescuer, gets wet pants, Sean brushed snow from his hair and went to his room to change for the second time in a matter of hours. He took his time drying off, then pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and thick socks. Towel-drying his hair and face, he heard his stomach growl. The invasion of Laura and Max had caused him to miss dinner. Maybe she wasn’t hungry, but he was.

Sean came out and saw that Laura had her eyes closed, the cat cuddled up against her, purring away. In the kitchen, he paused, considering dinner. “How about that soup now?” he suggested.

“I honestly couldn’t, but thanks.”

All right, he’d let her have it her way. He filled a glass with cold water before bending to his medical bag and pulling out a vial of pills. “I think you’ll feel better if you take one of these,” he told her.

Laura opened her eyes. “I don’t like taking pills.” Especially when she didn’t know what they were.

“Look, isn’t it time you started trusting me? I’m a doctor, remember? There’s a time to be brave and a time when it’s plain silly to insist you’re not hurting when I know you are.” He held out the water and medication. “This will help you rest.”

Laura swallowed the pill, then burrowed back into the nest of pillows, closing her eyes and hoping the medicine would put her to sleep until the pain passed. “Thanks. Please, go back to whatever you were doing. I don’t want to inconvenience you any further. I’ll just lie here for a bit, if you don’t mind, and then I’ll call someone.” But who? she wondered, frowning. Her father was never around, it seemed. She couldn’t ask her friend Molly to drive up all this way when the roads were undoubtedly worse than before. She’d sure picked a rotten night to have an accident.

Sean sat down on the stool, noticing the cat’s yellow eyes watching his every move. “I’m afraid the phone’s out. Has been since before I found you. It could come back on any minute, or not for a couple days. Hard to tell.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I can make it over to our cabin on Ridgeway. The snow’s bound to stop soon and…”

“Not likely. It’s coming down heavier than before. Have you ever been up this way in the winter?”

“Not since I was a child.”

He’d thought as much. “The snow probably won’t let up until tomorrow sometime, the wind blowing drifts as high as the roofline.” He tucked the afghan around her legs. “And you’re in no condition to go anywhere. You’re bruised all over, your ankle’s probably aching like the devil and your shoulder will be sore for several days.”

His assessment was right on the money. Still, she hated to impose, to be a problem for anyone. She was used to being on her own, fending for herself. And although a doctor, he was a total stranger. “I’m so sorry I stumbled onto your property and messed up your plans. I’ll bet you could throttle me.”

She looked genuinely regretful, erasing Sean’s resentment at being inconvenienced. She should have looked bedraggled, dissipated, cranky even. Instead she look intriguing with those wounded eyes and that haunted air about her that made her seem vulnerable and very appealing. “Not a problem, really. I have a spare room with a bed that’s a lot more comfortable than this couch.”

Laura thought she’d be just fine on the couch if he’d just go off and leave her be. But she’d have more privacy in another room where she could close the door and be alone with her cat. “All right, if it’s not too much trouble.” She moved to sit up, the pain somewhat dulled by the medicine beginning to kick in.

He reached over to pick her up, but she stopped him. “I can walk, I think.”

Sighing, he shoved a hand into his pocket, searching for a coin. Already he knew she was stubborn and used to being independent. “My lucky Indian coin. I’ll flip you for it. Heads I carry you, tails you walk.”

Warily, she studied him. “A two-headed coin?”

“You really don’t trust easily, do you?” He showed her both sides, then tossed the coin up in the air, slamming it down on his hand. It came up heads. “There, now put your arms around my neck.”

Too tired to argue, Laura did as he asked. He carried her easily, heading toward the farthest door. She struggled against an urge to lay her head on his shoulder. He smelled of the outdoors, of woodsy aftershave, unmistakably male. He was so big, so solid, and it felt so good to be held, to feel safe. It had been so long since she’d given in to the very human need to just be held.

Following, Max protested loudly, but when Sean opened the door, he hopped on the bed immediately. Sean set Laura on her feet momentarily, pulled back the covers and eased her onto the bed. Her eyes felt so heavy she could scarcely keep them open as she felt him draw the comforter over her.

“There’s a connecting door right there to the bathroom, if you need it,” he explained, turning on a small night-light.

She sank into the soft warmth. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Sure.” He saw that she was halfway asleep already, her large blue eyes closing. The medicine along with all she’d been through was dragging her under. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his touch lingering a bit longer than that of an impersonal doctor.

He watched Max snuggle up against her, keeping his golden eyes on their host. Sean moved to the door. “If the phone comes alive, is there anyone you want me to call for you?”

Her eyes opened as she mentally ran through the short list of possibilities. “No, there’s no one.”

Backing out of the room and leaving the door slightly ajar, Sean felt a rush of sadness that there was no one this lovely woman wanted to notify as to her whereabouts, no one who’d be worrying about her when she didn’t call or show up.

In the kitchen, he heated soup, set out crackers, poured himself a glass of milk. He sat down at the counter and ate disinterestedly, his thoughts elsewhere. Sean had a logical mind, one that usually sorted things out in an orderly fashion, studied the possibilities then came to an informed conclusion. But, try as he would, he couldn’t seem to pigeonhole Laura Marshall.

She came from a wealthy family, that much he knew. Her father had a good reputation for fair dealing, though Sean was aware that many regarded him as cold and calculating. He seemed to remember that Owen’s wife had died some time ago and, though his picture had been in the paper in the society section escorting a variety of well-heeled, bejeweled women, Sean didn’t think Laura’s father had remarried. She said she worked for the family real estate business decorating model homes. He couldn’t help wondering how she got along with Owen.

Sean took a bite of cracker and chewed thoughtfully. She’d left her home in one hell of a hurry, taking along only her purse and grumpy cat, heading for a cabin she’d described as a safe haven. Why did she need one? She’d obviously been up to their cabin often before, yet she hadn’t thought it might be snowing in mid-February, hadn’t dressed for the weather, hadn’t even worn boots, hadn’t thrown a few clothes into a bag.

Because she was afraid of someone or something, she’d confided, yet she didn’t know who or why. How would she react when she remembered? He finished his light dinner, drained his milk glass and sat back. Traumatic amnesia was very real and pretty scary. What had frightened her enough to send her scurrying to her safe haven with no luggage, no preparation?

Despite her accident, she appeared clear-eyed, lucid, honestly trying to remember. He could see it bothered her to not know what had motivated her rush to safety. She certainly wasn’t in a dangerous line of work, nor was her father. A boyfriend stalking her, perhaps? An ex-husband or an admirer who’d become obsessive? Laura Marshall was certainly beautiful enough to inspire such behavior.

Or could she be in trouble, maybe running from the law? Stranger things had happened, yet he didn’t think that was it.

For one thing, there was all that family money. Could someone be threatening her, blackmailing her or working some sort of scam? Or had he read too many mysteries lately and let his imagination go on overdrive?

Shaking his head at his flight of fancy, Sean put his dishes in the dishwasher and yawned expansively. He hadn’t slept well last night, as he rarely did on these sojourns. Maybe tonight would be better. Laura’s unexpected arrival had called a halt to his brooding, the first time anything had distracted him from remembering, from going over every detail of that fateful day trying to discover something he might have done differently.

He walked over to the portrait above the fireplace and stood staring at the smiling face so full of mischief. “I failed you, Danny,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Bending to make sure the fire was dying out, he sighed then walked over to check the phone. Still out. He paused by the room where Laura lay. Stepping in quietly, he saw that she hadn’t moved. Her cheeks were a bit flushed, one hand softly curled by her face. Max’s suspicious yellow eyes glowed in the semidark. Perhaps the cat sensed that he preferred dogs. Or maybe he could tell that, despite his stated desire to be left alone this week, he’d like nothing better than to change places with Max and curl up with Laura Marshall under the duvet.

Sean headed for his bedroom.

The light filtering in through the unadorned windows woke her. Blinking, Laura took a moment to orient herself, then realized it was a weak morning sun reflecting on snow that was still falling outside. Her headache was gone, and she was grateful for that. She dared to move her shoulder and felt a dull ache, but not the sharp pain of yesterday.

She turned toward the nightstand and saw that it was ten after eight on the Mickey Mouse clock. The lamp she hadn’t noticed last night was a grinning Bugs Bunny chomping on a carrot, its base containing the night-light still on.

Curiosity aroused, Laura looked around and saw that she had slept in what was obviously a child’s room. The yellow striped wallpaper had flocked Disney characters parading across one wall while a little red wagon sat in the far corner holding a rabbit with one ear. Surely they had to be the ones from the picture over the fireplace.

A dozen or more stuffed animals hung in a hammock stretched beneath two shelves of children’s books. A blue-and-white hobbyhorse was next to the wagon, and a child’s maple rocker holding a huge purple dinosaur was near the door to the bathroom. Atop the tall dresser was a huge pink piggy bank and one of those glass globes that you had to turn over and snow fell on an ice skating scene. A wooden train was next to it, the cars forming letters that spelled out Danny.

So the child in the picture wasn’t Sean but rather a boy named Danny whose room this obviously was. Trying to recall their earlier conversation, Laura realized that when she’d asked Sean if he lived here alone, he had said he actually lived in Scottsdale, that he’d built this cabin for times he wanted to get away from the city. An evasive reply.

Laura stretched and shoved back the covers, then sat up. The room tilted slightly, then righted itself. Max, who’d moved to the far side of the bed, gave her a quick glance, then resumed his morning grooming. “Time we got up, lazybones,” she told him.

It was utterly quiet, and she wondered if Sean was up. There was a simple explanation here, she’d wager. Sean was probably divorced and had a son named Danny who used this room during his visits with his father. Or was Sean still married and the boy and his mother were back in Scottsdale?

She didn’t think so. She could be wrong, of course, Laura thought, but the masculine decor of the cabin, with the exception of Danny’s room, the lack of a woman’s touch, the absence of any pictures other than the boy’s portrait all pointed to a single man. But the most telling thing was the way he looked at her, lingeringly, thoughtfully, heatedly. Not the way a married man in love with his wife would look at another woman, doctor or not.

Laura ran both hands through her tangled hair. Of course, she could be reading more into those looks than was there. But she’d also seen his hand tremble when he’d held out the water and pill. And again when he’d brushed the hair from her face when he’d laid her down on the bed. Later, dozing more than soundly asleep, she thought she’d heard him come into the room and stand looking down at her. She hadn’t stirred, hadn’t moved, yet she’d felt his presence. He hadn’t stayed long and, moments later, she’d heard the other bedroom door close.

Carefully she touched the bandage on her forehead, wondering if the concussion Sean seemed certain she had had affected her mind, as well. She wasn’t one who usually read meanings into every gesture and touch. And she certainly wasn’t looking for a relationship, not after the one she’d barely extricated herself from not long ago.

The short time she’d been involved with Marc Abbott should have taught her a great deal, should have soured her on quick attractions and the consequences that followed. And it had. Sean had commented that she didn’t trust easily, something he’d picked up on after knowing her ever so briefly. An astute observation.

Max sauntered over and began purring, a signal that he wanted to be petted. Smiling, Laura obliged, as her thoughts floated free.

With time and distance, divorced nearly two years, Laura thought she knew exactly why she’d fallen so hard and fast for Marc. He was awfully handsome, utterly charming and knew how to make a woman feel as if she were the only one in the room. Laura had never been one to attract men like Marc.

While not exactly a wallflower, she knew from her teens on that she wasn’t a raving beauty like her college roommate, Tate Monroe. Nor was she smart enough to graduate with a 4.0 like her other roommate, Molly Shipman. Ah, but she had something neither of them had had. She was rich, the only heir to her father’s wealth.

Laura felt a sob build in her throat and choked it down. What a pitiful thing it was to be not the pretty one, nor the smart one, but the rich one. Her fingers drifted through Max’s soft fur as she let her emotions settle. She’d long ago gotten over all that, hadn’t she?

At least she’d thought she had when someone handsome and clever such as Marc Abbott had sought her out and simply refused to take no for an answer. Overwhelmed, believing herself madly in love and gloriously happy, she’d married him.

And lived to regret that foolishly hopeful indulgence.

He’d hurt her, badly. But she’d moved on, took on more work, opened her own studio, became her own person. And she’d vowed to never ever let herself be a victim again. It wasn’t so bad, being alone, once you got used to it. Oh, she’d been asked out plenty, but other than business lunches and dinner meetings, she’d steered clear of letting anyone get close again. She’d never gone in for one-night stands, and everything else required a commitment she was unwilling to make.

And now she was up here, in the Gray Mountains in a snowstorm, marooned in a cabin with an attractive man who, even in her pitiful state, awakened some dormant desire inside her. But, not to worry. She’d tamp it down as she had with other occasional men who’d wandered into her life. Because she couldn’t trust them, could never know if they paid attention to her for the right reasons. If it wasn’t because she was gorgeous or had a personality that everyone gravitated to the moment she stepped into a room, then it was probably…because of her father’s money.

Lowering her head, she nuzzled Max’s fur. “No more feeling sorry for ourselves, Maxie,” she whispered to the cat. “We’re fine, just the two of us.”

Something caught her eye at the foot of the bed, a pile of clothes. She reached for them, examining each piece. Clean sweatshirt and sweatpants, thick socks, white cotton underwear, a chenille robe and an old-fashioned floor-length flannel nightgown. Well, well. About her size, though a tad roomy. His wife’s clothes? Or ex-wife’s? At any rate, it was very thoughtful of him. A shower and fresh clothes would feel good.

Testing her ankle, Laura stood up. Still swollen, still painful, but bearable. She gazed out the window and saw that the snow wasn’t letting up. There had to be several feet already and with the wind blowing drifts, probably higher in places. She’d never been marooned before, never spent time at a place where no one knew where she was. Saturday morning. She’d had no weekend plans, no luncheon dates or business consultations or shopping sprees with a girlfriend.

Would anyone be looking for her? Maybe, but she doubted if someone would actually worry until possibly Monday. Her father only sought her out when he had a decorating problem that needed solving or a favor he wanted from her. Everyone else would assume she’d gone away for a few days. Which, although she never did without informing someone, was a reasonable explanation.

Holding onto the bedpost, she took a step, then another then had to let go. Only three more steps to the bathroom door. Once inside, she could cling to any number of things. Her ankle felt rubbery, though Sean had said it didn’t appear to be broken.

Hugging the clothes to her chest with one hand, the other outstretched to reach for the doorknob, Laura took a step, then another on her sprained ankle. That’s when it went out on her and she went down with a yelp, crashing into a child’s rocker. A huge purple dinosaur fell onto her, the recorded mechanism triggered by the fall.

“I love you,” Barney sang. “You love me…”

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