Whirlwind Cowboy

“How do I know you don’t have a gun hidden in that room?”

Clearly affronted, she gasped. “Because I don’t!”

“I’m not taking my eyes off you. Now, put on the dress.”

A spark of temper masked the uncertainty in her eyes. She angled her chin at him, clearly prepared to argue, then she seemed to realize he wasn’t bluffing about dressing her himself.

She backed into the corner and stepped into the garment. When she bent to pull the dress over her hips, Bram got a tantalizing view of her breasts, plump and pale and perfect.

He bit his cheek. Hard. Once she was covered and buttoning her bodice, he said, “Now let’s try again. What are you doing here?”

Looking uncertain, she said, “There’s a storm.”

He made an impatient sound. “Don’t play with me.”

“I—I’m not.”

“Why are you here?” Fine grains of dirt floated in the hazy light. “In my cabin?”

“I didn’t know it was your cabin. I took shelter so I wouldn’t get caught in the storm.”

“Don’t test me. I’ve had all of that I want from you.”

She froze, her gaze riveting on his face. “You sound as though you know me.”

“Of course I know you.” He bit out his words.

“Well, I don’t know you,“ she said in a voice thick with tears. Hands clenched tightly at her sides, she was still shaking.

She beat all he’d ever seen. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing. I don’t know who you are.”

That put a strange heaviness in his chest. “Yeah, I’m sure you’d like to pretend you never did.”

“I’m not pretending. I don’t know who you are.” She swiped at a tear tracking down her ivory cheek. “Or who I am either.”

Bram stared at her for a full five seconds, fighting back a roar of anger. The ebony of her hair made the light blue of her eyes even more striking. And her petal-smooth skin had a faint tinge of a blush. There was an innocence about her. Even now, after what she’d done, she looked angelic.

She was so damn beautiful he wanted to touch her, and he hated himself for it.

Trying to come to terms with the fact that he was really seeing her, he repeated scornfully, “You don’t know who you are.”

She blinked. “You … don’t believe me.”

“No.” Bram took off his hat and smacked it against the wall, knocking off a thick film of dust. He tossed it onto the table.

“Why would I lie?”

“How about because you ran off with a cattle rustler who’s also now a murderer? Or because you walked away from your family, your home and me—”

He broke off, pinching the bridge of his nose. The constant buzzing of the wind made his shoulders even more tense. “By claiming you don’t remember any of that, you can plead innocence. I wouldn’t admit to knowing anything either.”

“But I don’t remember! I don’t know anything. Not my name, not where I’m from.” Fear and frustration mixed on her face. “You said you know me. What is my name?”

He frowned. She sure was carrying through with this lost memory business.

“Please.” Pure desperation shaded her voice. And confusion. “Please. ”

“Deborah.” He wondered how far she would go with this. “Your name’s Deborah Blue.”

“Deborah Blue.” Her face fell. “I don’t remember being called that. And who are you?”

Could she be telling the truth? She really didn’t remember him or herself or Cosgrove? Bram walked slowly over to her and stopped within a foot, studying her eyes.

She lifted her chin and he saw a bruise on her jaw. And a cut on her temple. He went still inside. Had Cosgrove done that to her? The idea shook Bram. He gestured to her face. “What happened to you?”

“I think … someone hit me.” She touched the faded streaks of blood on her damp bodice. “There was a big spot of blood beside me. I don’t think it was mine.”

He might not believe she had memory loss, but someone had roughed her up. A cold fury gripped him. He didn’t hold with violence against a woman. Ever. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I don’t think so.” She curled her hands over the edge of the chair as if she needed support. Though she looked as if she might bolt if he so much as blinked, she didn’t move. Her gaze held his. There was no guile in the blue depths and no spark of recognition at all.

“Your name. Please.”

His hold tightened on his rifle. Grit seemed to settle in his throat. “I’m Bram Ross.”

“Bram Ross,” she said softly in the same sweet, almost shy way she had the first time he’d told her to call him by his given name. And just as it had then, the dark velvet of her voice stroked over him like a hand, making his body go tight. Dammit.

“How do we know each other?”

Bram felt as though he’d been kicked in the gut. “We live near the same town, Whirlwind.”

“Are we friends?”

“Not exactly.” He wanted to grab her and kiss her, ask if she remembered that. At the confused look on her face, he said flatly, “I asked you to marry me.”

“Oh!” Hope lit her eyes. “So you’ve been looking for me?”

“No. I’m actually looking for your … beau.” Bram could barely force out the word.

“But if you …” She frowned. “I thought you were my beau.”

“So did I,” he muttered under his breath.

“This man you’re looking for is my beau?”

“It appears so.”