about the accident?”
Dr. North thought for a moment. “My opinion is to avoid that topic for tonight. Talk in generalities. You were doing very well, and I think I’d keep conversation on that level until a psychologist sees her. I’ll arrange for one to visit her first thing in the morning.”
Clint was not normally a nervous man, but he was nervous about this. Why did Sierra trust him? What if he inadvertently said the wrong thing and sent her into another tizzy?
He took a long breath. “I’d better get back to her. Are you going to be available if something happens I can’t handle?”
“I’ll be here until 6:00 a.m. Call the nurse if you need me, and she will take it from there.”
Clint returned to room 217 and saw that Sierra had a death grip on the safety rail on each side of her bed. Forcing a smile, he walked over to her. “Told you I’d be right back. Let’s lower that rail, and then I’m going to move a chair over here so I can sit next to you.”
Sierra watched his every move. She was so grateful he’d come back that tears stung her eyes. When he was seated and holding her hand again, she released a long, heavy sigh and closed her eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and fell asleep.
Clint stayed right where he was, and he was glad he had, because every ten minutes or so she woke up and looked at him briefly, as though subconsciously needing assurance that he was still there. Then she closed her eyes again.
Actually, he was damned glad she was sleeping at all, as he couldn’t help worrying about further conversation with her.
Watching her sleeping and holding her hand was a bonding experience, he realized. She wasn’t just the other half of Tommy’s accident anymore, nor merely the woman in room 217, she was a flesh and blood human being with a troubled mind and the warmest, softest hand he had ever held.
He turned it once, looked at the abrasions on her palm and became choked up. The physical evidence of the accident would heal and vanish. Would the emotional damage heal and vanish, as well? Dr. North believed her amnesia was temporary.
All Clint could do was pray he was right.
Three
The next time Sierra awoke, her mind wasn’t nearly as fuzzy as it had been. She knew she was in a hospital room. She remembered Dr. North and some nurses, and the man, Clint Barrow.
Turning her head slightly, she studied him. He had fallen asleep in a chair next to her bed. She recalled him saying they were friends, but friendship had many degrees. Were they merely speaking acquaintances, or were they much more? Frustration suddenly attacked her, and she brought her hand up to her head—perhaps to smooth her hair, or to nervously run her fingers through it, she really didn’t know. But instead of feeling her abundant, heavy, straight hair, she discovered the cap covering it.
Why was she wearing a cap? Why couldn’t she remember being brought to the hospital? Why couddn’t she remember her own name?
“Oh, my God,” she whispered as understanding developed. Her memory was gone! Her heart fluttered in panic. Who was she? Where did she live? What had happened to cause so many aches in her body?
A nurse rushed in and saw that her patient was wide awake, the reason her heart rate had increased. She smiled and checked the flow of the IV. “Are you feeling all right, dear?”
Clint woke and sat up in the chair. “Sorry, I didn’t intend to doze off. Is anything wrong?”
“Everything appears to be just fine,” the nurse said brightly. “Our patient woke up, that’s all.”
Clint leaned toward the bed. “Are you all right, Sierra?” he asked softly.
She turned teary eyes to him. “I can’t remember anything,” she whispered.
The nurse patted her arm. “Dr. North said it’s only temporary, dear. Try not to worry. You’re doing fine.”
“I have so many cuts and scrapes,” Sierra said in a tear-clogged voice. “What happened? Why am I wearing a cap?”
“You have very long hair, dear,” the nurse said. “The cap is merely a means to restrain it.”
“But...my temple. Am I feeling stitches?” Sierra’s hand was exploring her forehead.
“Don’t touch them. There’s no bandage, and we shouldn’t risk infection.”
Clint could tell that Sierra’s mind was much clearer than it had been. She was going to ask questions—she had already asked questions—and he decided then and there that if the nurse didn’t answer them, he would. Maybe a psychologist should talk to her first, but there wasn’t one in the room, and to his way of thinking, she had every right to know what had happened to her.
Sierra asked nothing of the nurse, however. She accepted a drink of water, and lay still while the nurse checked the monitor connections.
“Well, everything seems to be in good order,” the nurse said briskly. “I’ll be at the station if you need me.” Her soft-soled shoes made very little sound as she left the room.
The second they were alone Sierra turned pleading eyes to Clint. “You said we’re friends. Please tell me everything you know about me. Everything,” she repeated in a choked voice.
He had no intention of refusing, although he wondered how best to explain that their friendship had begun only hours ago. If that information upset her...? It would upset her, Clint realized uneasily. She regarded him as her one connection with her past, perhaps as the key that would unlock the door to her memory.
This was far more of a burden than he’d bargained for, but he couldn’t lie to her. “I am your friend, Sierra,” he said quietly. “But I’m a new friend. We only met...recently.”
“But you do know who I am.”
Was he hearing panic in her voice again, seeing it in her eyes? He reached for her hand, and she let him hold it.
“Sierra, I’m not going to lie to you,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to hear anything but the truth, would you?”
“Is the truth something terrible?”
“It’s limited, but not terrible.”
“Tell me,” she whispered.
He took a breath. “Here’s what I know about you. You were in a car accident on a mountain road. My son was the driver of the other vehicle, a red pickup truck. You were driving a blue minivan. The road still had patches of early morning frost....”
She was staring at him so intently that he began to hope. “Is any of this familiar?”
She sounded discouraged as she answered, “No, but please go on. Was—was your son injured?”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“I’m glad.”
“So am I, Sierra, so am I.” Clint drew a breath before continuing. “There was another young man in the truck with Tommy, his friend Eric. They notified the sheriff and you were brought to Missoula and this hospital by a flight-for-life helicopter.”
She tried to make a little joke. “My first helicopter ride and I can’t remember it.”
How did she know that helicopter ride had been her first? Or was she merely assuming?
Clint smiled for her benefit. “But you will remember it, Sierra—that’s what you’ve got to hang on to. Dr. North told me he’s positive your amnesia is temporary.” Clint paused to mentally go over that conversation. Had Dr. North used the word positive?
Well, Clint couldn’t backtrack now and shatter the little hope he’d just given Sierra.
“And that’s how we met,” she said in