Identity: Unknown. Suzanne Brockmann

obviously repeating herself as she gazed at him with her seemingly average brown eyes.

      She was challenging him. Her words were a test—she wanted to know if he could do it.

      But he couldn’t.

      Mish met her gaze levelly, honestly. “I’m afraid that’s a little out of my league. But if you tell me exactly what needs to be done, I can—”

      She’d already turned away from him. “Perfect,” she was muttering. “Incredibly, amazingly, stupendously perfect. ” She spun back to face him. “You’re telling me you don’t know how to cool down a horse, aren’t you?”

      “I’m a quick study,” he said quietly. “And you’re short of hands—”

      “Short of brains, too, obviously.” There was a flare of that hot-burning anger in her eyes, but the heat was weakened by her frustration and disappointment. “Dammit. Dammit! ”

      The disappointment was hard to take. He would have far preferred her anger. “I didn’t intend to deceive you.” He couldn’t explain. How could he?

      She just laughed as she took the saddle blanket from Stormchaser’s back. “Right. Go and make sure Brown’s packing his bags. He’s in cabin number 12. Walk him back to the office, finish up the stalls, then stay out of my sight for the rest of evening. I can’t handle this right now—we’ll talk in the morning.”

      Mish may not have known a thing about horses, but he knew when a situation called for silence.

      He turned and left the barn. He’d awakened again this morning with no past, no name, no sense of self. Yet somehow he now felt even emptier inside.