The Princess Has Amnesia!. Patricia Thayer

your name is the charm around you neck. There are three initials, A.N.A., or it could also stand for the name Ana.”

      She frowned. “Can we call the police or a forest ranger? Somebody?”

      “Not possible. You picked a remote place to land. I have an off-road vehicle, but the road here washed out yesterday when this storm hit.”

      “How will anyone find me?” Panic clouded her eyes, along with pain.

      “If your pilot radioed his location, someone should be looking for you. But that could take a few days with these conditions.”

      Jake turned to the sink, grabbed the pump handle and primed it until water shot out of the faucet. This place didn’t have any modern conveniences. Hell, it didn’t even have many of the basics. That was the charm for Jake. To be as far away from the world and its problems as he could get. But it looked like one of them had found him.

      He filled the glass, took two ibuprofen from the first-aid kit and walked back to her. “Here, take these. They should help take the edge off.” He offered her two tablets.

      She looked confused.

      “They’re just over-the-counter painkillers. Can’t hurt you. Go on, take them. Your head has to be killing you.”

      “It’s like someone’s using it as a drum,” she admitted, then took the medication and drank thirstily from the glass. She gave it back to him. “Thank you. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to get dressed,” she said haughtily. “Would you please find me something to wear?” She looked down at the blanket.

      The burning wood in the fireplace crackled and sparks shot out. The last thing Jake needed was to be reminded she was naked underneath, especially since he was the one who helped her get in that condition. His fingertips still could recall the feel of her soft skin. Forget it, Sanderstone, this woman’s trouble. You don’t mix well with the pampered princess type.

      “I hate to disappoint you, but until your clothes dry out all I can offer you is one of my shirts and a pair of sweatpants.”

      There was that defiant look again, then her features softened. “I’ll be appreciative of anything you can lend me.”

      Jake went into the bedroom and pulled a faded chambray shirt from the closet and a pair of black sweatpants. He returned and handed the items to her.

      She glanced around. “Is there some place I can wash up?”

      “Sure. In the sink. But I wouldn’t suggest you exert yourself just yet. Remember you have a concussion.”

      “I know I will feel much better if I can clean up some.” She tried to stand, but stumbled.

      Jake reached out and caught her as she was about to go down. He wrapped his arms around her, trapping the downward slide of the blanket. The cloth barely covered her breasts and their fullness threatened to spill out. Oh, Lord help me.

      “Okay, let’s get something straight. Until you can stand on your own, I’ll take care of you.”

      “But…”

      “There are no buts. I’m the boss here. If you want, I’ll let you arm wrestle me for the job.” He cocked an eyebrow to see how far she’d fight him.

      “Not fair,” she mumbled.

      “Well, hell, who told you life is fair?” He knew firsthand how ugly it could be out there in the trenches, starting with a childhood that had been spent on the rough side of New Orleans.

      He liked it better here…alone.

      “If only I could remember…something, my name,” she said.

      “How about I just call you, sugar?” He grinned.

      “Don’t you dare. It sounds like a country-and-western song.”

      “Well, now is your chance. You pick a name.”

      She fingered the charm around her neck. “How about Ana?”

      She looked up at him with those rich blue eyes and instantly he knew that was her name. It fit her. Fit her beauty…her courage…even her irritating stubbornness.

      Never wavering from her mesmerizing gaze, he took the shirt and held it out for her. She managed to slip one arm into the sleeve while continuing to grasp the blanket. Then he wrapped the shirt around her back and she put her other arm in. He closed the front and did up the buttons. Once he finished, the blanket fell to the floor. Oh man, this woman was going to make him crazy. “I have socks for your feet.”

      He guided her to the couch and sat her down, then went back to the bedroom. He rummaged through his drawers and found the last clean pair of white athletic socks. He needed to do laundry. He returned to the couch to find his guest curled up on her side, sound asleep. She had gone through a lot of trauma this morning. Maybe it was a blessing she couldn’t remember what happened in the crash. Life’s tragedies often turned into nightmares.

      Trying not to disturb her sleep, he worked the socks over her dirty, but delicate feet. There was dried mud on her calves too, but she could wash up later, he thought, tugging the white fabric up her shapely leg.

      “Seems we’re getting pretty familiar, sugar.” He smiled, but didn’t feel any mirth. She hadn’t liked him calling her that. Good. It made her angry. That’s exactly what he wanted. For her to stay distant and as far away from him as possible. He listened to the rain, hoping it would let up and things could get back to normal. That someone would come looking for the plane and her, soon.

      It had been awhile since he had taken care of anyone. Not since his mother. Memories of their crummy apartment flooded his head. The smell of alcohol, his mother’s slurred words as she tried to apologize for not bringing home any food for him. At only ten years old, he’d learned quickly to fend for himself, not to depend on anyone.

      Jake had made a point of being independent. Meg had been the closest he’d come to a relationship and that had been a mistake, too. They’d been partners in the bureau. He was a twelve-year veteran. He should have seen the danger, he should have been able to save her. Instead, he let his guard down and allowed her to walk into a trap.

      Pain and regret washed over him, constricting his chest as he watched the mystery woman sleep. He didn’t want to be responsible for anyone again. That’s why he’d come here. Far away from country and duty, to figure out his plans for the rest of his life. All he knew was that his career with the bureau was over. He’d specialized in terrorism and worked undercover. He had seen too much ugliness and total disregard for human life. He just hadn’t had the stomach for it anymore. After handing in his resignation, he’d had no trouble walking away.

      Through an acquaintance, he’d heard about Wales. So he packed up and traveled to the Welsh countryside. He liked hiking in the mountains. Then he’d found this remote cabin where he could be by himself, and over the past four months, he’d been able to get through most days. He still had the nightmares and he’d gotten lonely some times, but he was staying.

      He covered his guest with a blanket and put another log on the fire, then walked out the door to feed the horses. He only hoped that he was going to get back his solitude. Real soon.

      “Wake up, Ana. Come on. Open those pretty blues for me.”

      Ana stirred and tried to shove at the hand on her arm. “Go away.”

      “Sorry, can’t do that.”

      Her head was pounding as she rolled over. “Go away, Rory. I want to sleep.”

      “Can’t do that,” he said, in a voice that was low and smooth as velvet. “So Rory will have to wait.”

      Slowly Ana came out of her fog and she opened her eyes. The man before her was familiar, but he represented what she didn’t want to remember. A plane crash, two dead men and no memory of who she was or if anyone was even looking for her.

      “What do you want?”