Page 9 of Sheltered by the Lawman

After several blinks, her shoulder lifted and dropped. “No. Maybe. I don’t think so. The name Monica is stuck in my head.”

“Anything else?”

She stared at the wall as if to collect her thoughts. “And jewelry. The flashy type that’s dangerous to wear on the subway.”

That sounds about right. “I guess that’s a start.”

“Oh, and a fur coat. I hope I don’t own a real fur coat.” She sighed. “Am I right? About my name at least?”

“I have your bag.” He slid it off his shoulder and placed it next to her hip. “Maybe if you look through your things it’ll trigger a memory.” He sure hoped so.

“Okay,” she said softly, but she didn’t hurry to reach into the bag, Instead, she clasped her hands tightly, working her bottom lip while she stared at the bag.

“What’s wrong?”

“I guess I’m being ridiculous,” she muttered and pushed herself up.

“Here, let me help.” Without thinking, he reached under her arms and gently lifted her against the pillow so that she was sitting upright. He pulled back slightly and their faces were within inches. Her eyes, an amazing color of green and bright like stars, seemed to reach in to his deepest, darkest secrets. Her bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top and trembled. With a jolt of awareness, he stepped back and turned his gaze away, hoping she didn’t see his discomfort. “No, not ridiculous. You’ve been through a traumatic event. Anyone would respond with apprehension. If you’re not ready to look through it—”

“No, I need to. Everything’s a blur inside my head.” Would she cry? Oh hell, if she cried he’d weaken a little more. He needed to keep the facts at the forefront of his brain. This could all be an act and yet he didn’t think so.

Grabbing the chair from the corner where he’d taken a nap earlier, he sat down. “Take your time. Want me to help?”

She nodded. “If you will.” Without any hesitation, he took out the small pile of crumpled clothing and laid it at the bottom of the bed. “I guess I wasn’t a fashionista.” She gave a nervous chuckle.

The next thing he took out was the picture where she was smiling. “Does this ring a bell?” She took the photo and held it for a good minute, staring, but he didn’t see any recognition in her expression.

She turned it over and read the back, “The beach vacation. Best time ever!” He watched her pale and she laid the picture aside. “So far we know my name is Monica and I love the beach.”

“You also love poetry.” He took out the book and showed her.

Her brows scrunched. “There isn’t any ID?” She narrowed her gaze and looked at him as if asking for help. What could he say? If she truly did have memory loss what could he say, or not say, that could interfere with her getting her memories back? He swiped a hand down his face.

“Hell, I don’t know a lot about memory loss, but what I do know it can be confusing putting all the thoughts back into place.”

She brought her slender hand to her face and squeezed the bridge of her nose. Her nails were short and unpolished, and her fingers bare of jewelry. Where was all the bling she remembered? “I-I don’t know. I have a splitting headache.”

“How about we take care of this later.” He stood and tossed everything back into the bag, setting it aside. “I’m sure they’ll keep you for observation and you’ll feel better after you’ve rested. Maybe you will have all your memories back by then.” He took a step toward the door and he saw her eyes widen slightly. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Are you leaving?” Her voice trembled.

He shoved his hands into his back pockets and shrugged. “You should sleep.”

“I know this is weird, but you’re the only person I know in the entire world.” She clasped her hands so tightly that he could see the whites of her knuckles.

Damn. He should tell her a straight up ‘no’ and run like hell. He could say goodbye to the reward. Why didn’t that settle well in his gut?

Cull could hear his brothers now, telling him that he was allowing his emotions to own him and there was no place for emotions when it came to business. This was a simple business deal that had taken a sharp turn for disaster. Yet, it wasn’t her fault that someone broke into her home, struck her over the head and set her place on fire leaving her for dead—and without her memory. And to think that he was the only one she knew did conjure up his protective side. Was she safe? What kept the person who did this from returning to finish the job? Would she understand the danger?

That settled it. He had no choice but to stay and watch over her.

He dragged his hands from his pockets and adjusted his Stetson.

“I’ll stay. There was a comfortable looking couch out in the lobby I can crash on,” he said with a chuckle.

“Don’t you have a family to get home to? Will they understand?”

“There’s no one that’ll care.”

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