She frowned. Her father was generally too busy to wonder where she was, her husband was now an ex and she hadn’t had a boyfriend in…well, a very long time.
She was honestly trying to remember, but everything was oddly hazy. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t going to meet anyone. I often go to the cabin alone. I love it there, like a secure haven. It was raining in Scottsdale when I left but I never dreamed I’d drive into a snowstorm.” She closed her eyes, willing the memory to return. “I remember I was in a hurry. That much seems clear. I had this urgency to get away, from something or someone. But I’m not sure who or why.” Her eyes opened and met his, filled with distress. “It’s really odd. I can’t seem to remember any more.”
“Not so odd. Can you think of anyone you’re afraid of?”
She just looked more confused. “I don’t know.”
No use pushing right now. She’d remember in time. Sean studied her huge blue eyes, the kind that could make a strong man weak. Then there was that cloud of jet-black hair and her lovely face without so much as a blemish, not even a freckle. To say nothing of her very feminine curves beneath the bulky sweater, her chest rising and falling with her nervous breathing.
He scooted the stool back a bit. “You haven’t told me your name,” he reminded her. Did she even remember it?
Good manners had been drilled into her from childhood. They had her setting aside her fear and responding to him. After all, he was a doctor, a caregiver. She had no reasonable reason to be afraid of him. The fear she felt was lingering from…from whatever it was she’d left behind.
“I’m sorry. Laura Marshall. I have an interior design studio in Old Scottsdale. My father’s Owen Marshall. He’s…”
“I’ve heard of him. He’s a Realtor.” Not just any Realtor, but one who owned half a dozen or so residential offices plus a large commercial division. He should have guessed from her clothes. Her family had pots of money. And yet, here she was, running from something. Or someone.
“Yes, that’s right. I decorate the company’s model homes, but I have a private clientele, as well.”
“Do you live with your father?” Sean had never met Owen Marshall, but he’d read that the man was widowed and lived in a large sprawling home on Camelback Mountain.
Something flickered in her eyes, a quick distaste, then was gone so quickly he wasn’t certain he’d seen it at all. “No, not since I left for college. I have a town house in Scottsdale in Old Town.”
“I’m not far from you. I have an older house on Mockingbird Lane that I’ve been renovating. Near Judson School in Paradise Valley.”
Finally, she believed him. “I know exactly where that is.” But a frown creased her forehead. “Why is it I can remember personal details, but not why I was in such a hurry to leave town?”
“It’s called traumatic amnesia. Someone who’s been traumatized by something fearful can’t recall the hurtful details but remembers common facts about her life. The rest will come back to you in time. Maybe gradually, or perhaps all at once. It’s the mind’s way of protecting you from an event too painful to recall. Something will trigger the memory when you’re ready to remember.”
Laura stared at his face, thinking he looked sincere and concerned. “You really are a doctor, aren’t you? I’m sorry I doubted you, but…”
“You don’t have to apologize. You had a frightful experience, then a bad accident and you woke up in a stranger’s house with injuries. Anyone would be skeptical.”
“My Bronco. Is it in bad shape?”
He shrugged. “Depends what you mean by bad. You must have veered off the road and down this incline, hit a small tree, then the Bronco spun around and wound up with its back end wedged between two trees. I think it can be repaired. If you’d have been driving a smaller car, you might not be here talking with me.”
She shuddered at the close call. “I just bought the Bronco about six months ago. I used to drive a BMW two-seater. But I have to carry around all these samples—carpeting, drapery, paint swatches, wood panels. I guess it was a good decision to switch.”
“Amen to that.”
Laura shifted on the couch, attempting to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through her shoulder. “Oh!”
“I think we’d better get your shoulder back in place,” Sean told her, getting to his feet. “I take it you’ve never had this type of injury before?”
Her face registered discomfort and reluctance. “No. How exactly do we get it back in place?” Laura had a feeling she wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to suggest.
“You’re going to have to trust me.” He bent to help her stand, moving gently, aware of her many sources of pain and that her ankle might prevent her from standing without help. “Put your good arm around my shoulder and hold on.” When she did, he lifted her into his arms.
Laura bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry out with the pain that stabbed like a knife through her shoulder. Her arm felt limp and useless. Despite that, as he carried her across the room, she couldn’t help but be aware of how strong he was, holding her as easily as if she were a child. His hands were large and powerful. She could scarcely imagine this big man delivering tiny babies. She’d always pictured obstetricians as middle-aged, comfortably solid, inviting confidence not speculation. Sort of neuter, sexless, harmless.
Sean Reagan was anything but. With his ruddy complexion, windblown sandy hair and athletic build, he looked more like a man who worked outdoors chopping down trees rather than bringing new lives into the world. Unbidden, her gaze settled on his mouth. Full lips, a small dimple in one corner, thoroughly tempting.
Lord, what was wrong with her, thinking sexy thoughts about a man she’d just met? That bonk on the head must have rattled her more than she’d thought. But there was a dormant sexuality about him that, even in her bruised and battered state, made her very keenly aware that she was a woman.
She didn’t need the reminder just now.
At the paneled wall, Sean stopped to explain. “I’m going to set you on your feet and brace you with my body up against the wall since I know your one ankle won’t hold your weight. I need you to hold very still, and I’m going to tell you now, this will hurt. But only for a few seconds.”
Eyes wide, Laura stared at him. “What are you going to do?” Laura remembered vaguely reading a story where someone had fixed a dislocated shoulder for a patient. It hadn’t been a pretty scene.
“The ball of your shoulder has slipped out of the socket. The only way to fix it is to yank really hard on your arm and allow the ball to jump back into place. Can you handle that?”
She wasn’t sure. “What if you yank and it doesn’t go in?”
He almost smiled. “It will. I’ve done this many times.”
“Ever lose anyone doing it?”
Now he did smile. “Keep that sense of humor.” Carefully, he stood her up and held on while she settled most of her weight on the uninjured foot. Only she was wobbly, perhaps even a little dizzy, and her knees kept buckling.
“I’ve got you. Don’t worry.” He aligned their bodies so that he was very close up against her, keeping her from sliding down by pressing himself into her as she stood with her back to the wall. The top of her head came to just under his chin. The warm womanly scent of her drifted to him as her hair nuzzled against his nose. Sean swallowed hard and dipped his head back. He’d better hurry before he embarrassed himself. “Ready?”
She felt light-headed, whether from her combined injuries, her painful arm or the reaction of being all but glued to this very male stranger, her breasts flattened against his chest,