The Sheriff's Amnesiac Bride. Linda Conrad

he owns the farm-supply store in town. Of course around here, that means he sells mostly guns and tack, some deer blinds and a lot of game feeders.”

      Jericho let himself give her one of his polite, running-for-office smiles as he continued. “My older brother, Fisher, is a captain in the U.S. Army, just home on leave from his third tour of duty in the Middle East.” He shrugged and ducked his head, not knowing where to go from here. “That’s about it for the family. Want to hear about my friends?”

      “You didn’t mention your mother. Has she passed away?”

      If only she had simply died. “Our mother took off when Fisher and I were kids.”

      “Took off?”

      “Disappeared. Haven’t heard a word from her in nearly thirty years. She might be dead by now for all I know.” Good riddance if she was.

      He stood, picked up his empty soup bowl and eyed Rosie’s almost empty one. “You want another bowl of soup? Or anything else?”

      Without answering, Rosie glanced up at him and he spotted dark, purplish circles under her eyes. The lady was whooped. His protective instincts kicked right back in again.

      “Let’s get you into bed for now. We’ll have a fresh start in the morning. Okay with you?”

      “I am tired. Thanks.” She slid off the barstool and he watched her hanging tightly on to the counter as if her legs were about to give out on her.

      He dumped the dishes into the sink and went to her side. “Here, take my arm. I won’t let you fall.”

      For a moment, it seemed that she would refuse. Jericho saw her try to straighten up and steady herself. But within a split second, she started to slide.

      There was no choice. He bent to pick her up in his arms. A lot lighter than he’d imagined, her body hugged his chest as she threw her arms around his neck and hung on.

      “I feel ridiculous. I can’t even remember my own name and now I can’t walk under my own steam. It’s a good thing you’re here, Sheriff.”

      Yeah, maybe. Or maybe this was going to turn into his worst nightmare.

      Jericho carried her down the hall and into the spare room. Setting her down in the corner chair, he pulled back the covers from the double bed.

      “This should be comfortable enough.” He had to turn away from the sight of clean, fresh sheets just waiting for bodies to mess them up.

      “It looks great,” she told him. “But I wish I had a pair of clean pajamas. These clothes are getting gamy.”

      He stood there for a second, picturing her naked again. Finally, making a tremendous effort, he started thinking with his head instead of another part of his anatomy.

      “How about I lend you one of my T-shirts? I’ve got one or two older ones that’ve turned soft from washing and I don’t wear them anymore. Would that do?”

      She nodded and gave him a weak smile.

      When he brought a shirt back into the room and handed it to her, his sex-obsessed brain produced another thought. This one worried him.

      “Are you going to need help getting undressed?”

      “No, I’m feeling stronger, thanks. I think the food helped.”

      “Great. The bathroom is right across the hall. There are towels in the closet and an extra new toothbrush. Use whatever you need.”

      “Thanks again, Jericho. I’ll be fine. See you in the morning.”

      Glad to know she would be okay for the night, Jericho eased out of her room and headed for his own. He probably wouldn’t fare as well with his own night. The thought of Rosie lying in bed in the room right next to his would keep him tossing and turning.

      Sighing, he shrugged off his by-now-filthy dress shirt and tried telling himself it would all be okay. He had a plan. He would just start thinking of her like he would a roommate.

      Well, that plan didn’t work out so well. Jericho dragged himself into the shower the next morning and turned the faucets on full cold. Roommate, my foot. When had a roommate ever kept him lying awake for half the night with daydreams of long, silky legs and ripe, sensitive breasts?

      Irritated at himself, he swore to do better today. And it would serve him right if he was too tired and miserable all day long to concentrate.

      After his shower, he stood before the mirror, preparing to shave. A couple of things were going to have to change today, he silently demanded of his image. He needed to get a line on Rosie’s relatives. Somewhere people must be missing her. The sooner he found them and returned her to her previous life, the better off he would be. Let someone else protect her.

      The second thing that needed to change was the way she dressed. She didn’t have a change of clothes, and she needed to cover herself up real soon.

      But the thought of how she dressed reminded him of something else. Another chore he must do, first thing. Maybe he could combine the two. Yeah, that should work.

      Rosie opened her eyes when a dash of sunlight hit her eyelids and irritated her enough to wake up. She glanced over at the bright sunshine peeping through the wood-slatted miniblinds and wondered what time it was.

      Rolling over, it hit her. A gigantic black void. The gaping abyss in her brain suddenly threatened to swallow her whole.

      Gasping for air, as though someone had been choking her, and flailing her arms against a sea of nothingness and nausea, Rosie let her mind grab hold of the only thing it could. The one thing she saw clearly. The memory of Jericho Yates.

      Immediately her heart rate slowed and warmth replaced the stone-cold numbness she’d felt when she awoke to find nothing familiar. Jericho had made one hell of an anchor last night. He’d tethered her to the earth with quiet concern and a sensual smile.

      Fighting to remain in the moment and trying not to think either backward or forward, she sat at the edge of the bed and took stock. First was the physical. Her head wasn’t pounding as it had been last night. The stitches in her side were barely noticeable. She rotated her ankle and found only an echo of the pain she’d experienced.

      Okay, so she felt a little achy and sore, but she would live. Well, unless the bad guys came back.

      Her second concern—and the real question—remained the same as before: How was she going to get her memories back? The doctor said not to push it. The moment she’d tried to find some thread of memory, panic had set in.

      Taking another deep breath, she came to the conclusion that she had no choice. To keep from going stark raving mad, she had better just go along minute by minute. Living hour by hour and feeling her way.

      Standing in the kitchen drinking coffee, Jericho heard Rosie opening the spare room door and going into the bathroom. The sudden jolt of anticipation at seeing her again competed with the practiced calm he had almost perfected during the hours since his shower.

      But just then someone knocked on the front door. Jericho figured Rosie’s goons wouldn’t have the guts to confront him in broad daylight, and they definitely wouldn’t be knocking when they came to call. So this must be the person he was expecting.

      He checked out the window and saw her car. Yes, it was his best friend. He wiped the smile off his face and went to let her in.

      “Morning, Macy. Thanks for coming.” He stood aside and allowed her to come in.

      When she entered the room, everything felt easy, even somehow more homey. “Good morning, Jericho. I had every intention of talking to you this morning anyway. It’s my pleasure if I can be of some help at the same time.”

      As a best friend, Macy Ward couldn’t be beat. As a potential spouse…he would just as soon skip it.

      “I wanted to say how sorry I am about the ceremony, Mace. You know I wouldn’t have ducked