Private Vows. Sally Berneathy C.

she started to step off the curb, a delivery van zipped past, pulled over and parked a few yards up the street…and Mary whirled around, eyes wide, pupils shrunken to pinpoints, face ghostly pale, sheer panic in total possession of her.

      He grabbed her as she lunged forward in an effort to run down the walk, get away from the harmless van.

      “It’s okay! It’s okay!” He held her tightly as she struggled to get free. Over and over he repeated the nonsensical phrase. Of course it wasn’t okay when anybody was that terrified. He’d said the same thing over and over for Angela and achieved only minimal, temporary results, never anything approaching okay.

      Gradually she stopped fighting him, closed her eyes and slumped in his arms. For a moment he thought she might have fainted.

      She drew in a deep breath and her spine stiffened, though she kept her face turned to his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft with a slight quaver but an underlying determination. “I have no idea what just happened.”

      “The van,” he speculated. “It’s basically the same kind of vehicle as the ambulance you didn’t want to get into the other night. You must have some kind of phobia about ambulances.”

      Maybe she wasn’t completely off base about the blood belonging to her fiancé. Maybe she had a phobia about ambulances because he’d been taken away in one, though Cole certainly didn’t think she’d put him there.

      He could be wrong, of course. She could have been a completely different person before her memory loss. But he didn’t think so. Her kind of helpless terror was bone-deep and came from the soul.

      She nodded, still not looking at him, as if she was embarrassed over her outburst. “It’s hard to fight your fears when you don’t know what causes them.”

      She sounded quite rational. She’d be fine. He should release her, let her stand without his support, take her back to the shelter and leave her alone to cope with things as best she could.

      He should release her, but, damn, she felt good in his arms. Now that her panic had subsided, she was no longer a victim but merely a beautiful woman…a woman with rounded breasts beneath her white cotton blouse, breasts that were pressed against him because he held her so tightly, one hand at her slim waist and the other splayed across her back. Her hair the color of moonlight was long and soft and brushed his hand as she leaned her head back to look up at him. Her full lips were slightly parted as if she knew he wanted to kiss them…as if she wanted him to kiss them.