Page 12 of Sheltered by the Lawman

“You’re not a mess.” She snapped up a brow and he grinned. “Okay, yeah, you’re a mess, but it isn’t the end of the world. You’re alive and your memory will come back. And if it doesn’t, think of it as a new beginning.”

His words didn’t help. Instead, they broke the last thread to her composure. “I feel like I’m lost in the dark.” She sniffed loudly.

He stood. “You’re really upset.”

Swiping away the moisture from her cheek, she shrugged. “I’m on a roller coaster and I want off.”

Big, comforting arms caught her and pulled her against a broad, iron-hard chest. After her moment of shock passed, she inhaled sharply, smelling his appealing scent of spice and leather. So, not only did he look good, but he smelled better.

“If you thought I was a mess before, you’re really going to think I’m a basket case now. The poor woman who can’t remember her name has no place to go, has a murderer on her tail, and she can’t stop crying.”

“I’ve seen a lot and there’s not much that catches me off guard.” He flexed his arms around her and she had no strength to step away. How could she want to? This felt nice, like finding a perfect pair of jeans.

What was wrong with her? Sure, she’d been through something traumatic, but there was something else going on that was way more upsetting than a killer on the loose. Here, in the semi-stranger’s arms, she felt such an amazing, overwhelming comfort that couldn’t be explained. Suddenly, she was a raw nerve and he was the salve. This couldn’t happen. Not now—not when she had no clue who she was, or even what she was feeling. With a sudden burst of strength, she took a step back, looking up at him with a jutted jaw. “I’ll find a place to stay. I’m sure I can find a room at a hotel. I have a feeling I’m good at making things work.”

“With five dollars to your name?”

“Oh, that.” She sighed. “Wait…how did you know that?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Without any hesitation, he said, “I looked through your bag for some identification. You have no credit or bank cards.”

She tried to laugh but it fizzled. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find out who I am. Something more than just Monica. There must be an apartment manager at my building—”

“Monica Warren.”

She blinked. “That’s my last name? You spoke with the manager?”

He nodded. “You’ve lived at the address for a couple of years.”

Monica absorbed the information. “Did the manager say anything about family? Friends?”

“No,” he said abruptly.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I’m asking too many questions—”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“No ID. No credit or debit card. And clothes that barely fit. Who exactly was I?” She gulped back a sob. “Why did I have a bag packed? Was I leaving? Or returning from vacation?”

His features were masked, but his warm expression burrowed under her skin and zapped her blood. “I can help you out,” he said in a husky voice.

She gave her head a quick shake. “I can’t take your money.” Monica wasn’t even sure she could pay him back.

One corner of his mouth played with a smile. “I’m not offering money. I’m offering you a place to stay.”

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