The Temptation of Dr. Colton. Karen Whiddon

fallen into a deep sleep, because she dreamed of cooking. She was working in a kitchen, a huge, modern, professional place, and whipping up some kind of risotto. Lobster risotto. The task involved a lot of stirring and just the right heat, but in this dream she was an old pro at this sort of thing.

      After the risotto finished, she had a beautiful beef Wellington cooking, waiting to be sliced.

      Bemused, she went with the flow. Just as she’d gotten the entire meal together to be served, a firm tapping on her door woke her. Blinking, she yawned and stretched. After a moment of panic as she tried to orient herself, she realized where she was. “Yes?”

      “May I come in?” Eric’s sister, Greta. Which meant they must be back from lunch. Her stomach growled as she remembered the sandwich Greta had promised.

      When MW answered in the affirmative, Greta bounced into the room. “How are you feeling?”

      Blinking, MW sat up, pushing her thick, wavy hair away from her face. “Hungry,” she answered honestly.

      “Oh.” Greta rushed out of the room. She returned a moment later carrying a brown paper sack. “Here you go.”

      The smell of marinara and meatballs made MW’s mouth water. She pushed herself up from the bed, relieved when the room didn’t spin. “This isn’t the kind of thing one eats in bed. Can you point me toward the kitchen?”

      Still smiling, Greta led the way. While Greta watched, MW devoured the sandwich, stopping just short of licking her fingers—it was honestly that good. She washed it down with bottled water.

      “Better now?” Greta asked. She’d been jiggling one leg up and down the entire time MW ate, as if she had something else she needed to do.

      “Yes, thank you.” MW looked around. “Where’s Eric?”

      “Out on the patio.” Greta pointed. “He needed to make some phone calls. I was wondering, do you feel good enough to go shopping?”

      “Shopping?” Bewildered, MW wasn’t sure how to respond. “I can’t. I have no money.”

      If anything, Greta’s smile widened. “That’s okay. I have a credit card with a very high limit.”

      Appalled, MW shook her head, feeling almost frantic. “No. I can’t take your charity.”

      “Not mine.” Greta laughed. “My brother’s. Eric asked me to take you. He’d like you to have something to wear.”

      “But—”

      “I’m sure you can pay him back once your memory returns. Either way, I’m going to buy you some clothes. It’d be a lot better—and more fun—if you came with me.”

      MW considered. Did she enjoy shopping? And did that even matter? Eric was right, she needed clothes, at least until she could remember. “I’d like to go,” she decided, but looked down at the ill-fitting and ugly sweat pants she wore. “But I don’t think I can go out like this.”

      “Greta, don’t you always keep workout clothes in your car?” Eric asked, startling them both.

      Hand to throat, MW spun around. He stood just inside the sliding glass door, watching them. Her entire body tingled at the sight of him, his light brown hair backlit by the sun, his green-eyed gaze intense.

      Greta looked from one to the other. “Yes, I do.” She sized MW up, her gaze considering. “And I think we might be close in size, but I’m a lot taller.”

      “Even so, anything is better than what she’s got,” Eric said, smiling softly at MW to lessen the sting of his words.

      Nodding, Greta hurried away while MW burned from shame.

      Eric caught sight of her face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, coming closer. “Are you feeling all right?”

      She tried for indifference, but instead her eyes filled with stupid tears, which she hated. “Physically, I’m fine,” she replied. “But I have to say, I might not know who I am, but I know enough to realize I hate being a charity case. Borrowing an outfit is bad enough, but borrowing money to buy more clothes, when I’m not even sure I can repay you...”

      “Then don’t.” He seemed supremely unbothered. “One thing’s for sure, you’ve got enough to worry about without stressing over whether or not you can repay me. So let it go.”

      She opened her mouth, and then closed it. Because he was right. She had few options right now. Luckily, Greta reappeared, carrying a bright pink gym bag.

      “Here you go.” She shoved it at MW. “Go ahead and try something on.” Pointedly glancing at her watch, she sighed. “Then we need to get going. I’m on a pretty tight schedule.”

      Though Greta’s tone had been friendly, MW still flushed with embarrassment as she retreated to the bathroom. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she realized not only did she stand shorter than Greta, but was quite a bit curvier as well. As she opened the gym bag, she wondered if anything would actually fit.

      Luckily, the workout clothes were made of stretchy material and she was able to pull them on. She didn’t have sneakers—the battered pair of flip-flops she’d been given by the hospital would have to do. Either way, this was a huge improvement on what she’d worn before. However, the tight workout outfit highlighted every curve. Almost embarrassingly so.

      Feeling oddly shy, she emerged from the bathroom.

      “You look great,” Greta crowed. “Doesn’t she, Eric?”

      He let his gaze rove over her, his eyes darkening. “Much better,” he finally said. She couldn’t make herself look away. The vitality he radiated drew her like a magnet.

      “Ahem.” Greta cleared her throat. “Are you ready?”

      Face heating yet again, MW nodded. “I am.”

      “Then let’s go. I’ve got to be back at the ranch at sundown.”

      MW quickly learned that shopping with Greta was an endurance event. For the next three hours, Greta dragged her from store to store. MW was shocked when she found herself imagining Eric’s reaction to each outfit she tried on. Pushing away those thoughts became as difficult as trying to examine the price tags and mentally calculate the cost. Each time she tried to broach the subject with Greta, Greta refused to discuss it.

      In the end, they purchased two dresses, three pairs of jeans, an assortment of T-shirts, blouses, bras and panties, socks, sneakers and two pairs of heels. Each time MW tried to protest, Greta just grinned and purchased the disputed item anyway.

      By the time Greta pronounced them done, both women were loaded down with bags and MW had begun to stagger with exhaustion. Greta glanced at her and did a double take.

      “I think we might have overdone it a little bit,” she muttered.

      “Just make sure and give me the total,” MW replied tiredly. “I’m going to keep track of everything so I can pay it back.”

      By the time they reached Eric’s street, MW’s stride was seriously lagging. The late-afternoon August heat made her feel dizzy. She also realized she hated to perspire. One more thing she remembered, which under normal circumstances would have energized her. Now she just longed for a cool shower.

      “Are you all right?” Greta asked, her voice sharp. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

      Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, MW concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. “I’m fine.” They were nearly there. She prayed she could cross the last fifty feet and get through the door. Then she planned to find the closest available chair and plop herself into it.

      A white panel van with dark tinted windows pulled up alongside them and slowed, matching their pace.

      “Keep walking,” Greta said, her voice sharp. “Faster.”

      MW