Paternity Unknown. Jean Barrett

interesting. And definitely appealing with its square jaw, cleft chin and thatch of dark brown hair.

      That strong face also had a wide mouth with a boldly sensual quality. It would probably be wise, though, not to dwell on that.

      And, anyway, it didn’t seem fair for her to go on gaping at him when he was lying there unconscious and vulnerable.

      Getting to her feet, Lauren placed his wallet and jacket, together with the map and clipping, on a chair. Then, covering him again with a blanket, she put on her coat, returned the toboggan to its spot below the porch, made sure her snowmobile was secure and resumed her interrupted job of bringing in a fresh supply of wood.

      It was afterward, seated at the table eating the soup and sandwich she’d fixed for her supper, that she thought again about her silent visitor.

      Ethan Brand. She knew his name and looks now. What she didn’t know was his character. And to be honest about it, that concerned her. In his present condition, he certainly posed no threat. Nor had she a reason to think he was anything other than the harmless victim of an accident. Still…

      Her gaze strayed in the direction of his travel bag she had dumped on the floor below the sofa. Should she? No, unlike her essential investigation of his wallet, digging through the contents of that bag struck her as a blatant invasion of his privacy.

      Then she remembered the clipping and the map. They were there on the chair, out in the open, with no guilt involved and enticing her with the offer of possible clues.

      Unable to resist the temptation, Lauren left the table and went to look at them. The clipping was no more than a ragged scrap hastily torn from a newspaper whose identity was missing. Most of the story wasn’t there, either.

      There was only one intact, small paragraph. It named a witness who had returned from Seattle to her home in Montana. Hilary Johnson. Lauren didn’t recognize the name. Nor did this portion of the story include just what Hilary Johnson might have witnessed.

      Lauren turned to the map. It was a road map of Montana, folded so that only one area was visible. This area. The town of Elkton was circled. Heavily circled, as if there had been a fierce determination in the action.

      The clipping and the map smacked of—

      Well, Lauren didn’t know what they suggested. Something desperate? A mystery certainly.

      And, when you get right down to it, none of your business.

      She put the clipping and the map back on the chair. Wishing she hadn’t looked at them, she tried not to let them make her uneasy. In all likelihood, there was an innocent explanation.

      She returned to the table and her supper. Afterward, while cleaning up, she turned on the portable radio. Wanting to conserve its batteries, she listened only to the weather report.

      It wasn’t encouraging. The storm was expected to last through tomorrow and perhaps on into the next day. But then, she didn’t need the radio to tell her just how bad the conditions were. She could hear the snow hissing at the windows, the wind snarling around the corners of the cabin.

      Fortunately, the thick logs of its walls made the cabin snug and warm. As long as she kept the fires going, that is. She added fuel to both of them before deciding to call it an early night. She had earned a long rest after this evening’s ordeal.

      Long maybe, but not without interruptions, Lauren reminded herself. She would have to get up periodically to tend to the fires. Otherwise, in these temperatures the water lines would freeze.

      Also, she needed to check regularly through the night on her patient. She went now to look at him. There was no change. He continued to lie there without any sign that he was either worse or better. As she crouched beside the mattress looking down at that still face, she was troubled by something that hadn’t occurred to her before.

      There are probably people somewhere worried about you, Ethan Brand. Maybe a family waiting for you, wondering where you are and why they haven’t heard from you. If so, they must be frantic.

      As disturbing as that possibility was, there was nothing Lauren could do about it. Not until the roads were cleared and she had a working telephone again.

      Accepting the inevitability of their plight, Lauren rose to her feet. She fetched a pair of blankets and a pillow for herself, set the alarm clock to wake her in an hour, lowered the wicks on the lamps and stretched out on the sofa where she intended to spend the night.

      Her last act before she drifted off was to lean over and murmur in the direction of the mattress, “Lauren McCrea wishes you a good night, Ethan Brand.”

      It would have been nice to hear a response, but of course there was none.

      THE COLD, GRAY LIGHT of early morning was stealing through the windows of the cabin when Lauren was roused again by the buzz of the alarm clock. Stretching out a hand, she silenced the blasted thing.

      She lay there for a moment, reluctant to stir. Then, remembering her patient, she lifted her head from the pillow to look down over the side of the sofa. And was startled out of her lingering drowsiness by a pair of riveting, blue-green eyes gazing back at her from the mattress.

      Chapter Two

      The only sound in the taut silence was the rustle of the embers in the fireplace as they sifted through the bars of the grate.

      Swallowing nervously, she finally managed to find her voice. “You’re awake.”

      It was hardly a necessary observation since he continued to regard her with those mesmerizing, blue-green eyes. Whether he was lucidly awake was another matter.

      Concerned about that, she watched him lift his head from the mattress. The remarkable eyes narrowed in puzzlement as he cast his gaze around the room.

      Then, looking at her again, his voice deep and raspy, he responded with a slow, “You mind telling me something?”

      “What?”

      “Just who the hell are you, and how did I get here? Wherever here is.”

      It wasn’t a very friendly beginning—pretty brusque, in fact. But, considering how confused he must be, she was prepared to understand.

      “The name is Lauren McCrea. The cabin is my home. And you don’t need to tell me who you are. I checked on your identity in your wallet.”

      He considered her confession, maybe was briefly troubled by it—she couldn’t tell—and then nodded his acceptance. “Fair enough.”

      “You had an accident. Do you remember it?”

      “Oh, yeah. Skidded off the road while avoiding a collision with a—I don’t know, either a cow or a moose. Something like that.”

      “It wouldn’t have been a cow. There are no farms around here. Might have been a moose, but more likely an elk.” The injury to his head hadn’t left him disoriented, anyway. That much was a relief. But she was still concerned about other possible injuries. “How are you feeling?”

      “Like that elk went and walked all over me after I smacked into the tree.”

      Lauren was alarmed when he shoved himself into a sitting position on the mattress. Throwing back the blanket that covered her, she swung her legs to the floor and sat up on the sofa.

      “You shouldn’t be moving! Not with that cut on the side of your head!”

      “A cut, huh?” Only then did he seem to be aware of his wound. He fingered it carefully. “Yeah, it’s kind of tender.”

      “Maybe more than just that. You’ve been unconscious since the accident.”

      He frowned, and as he glanced in the direction of a window, she could see him realize something else. That it was daylight.

      “You telling me I slept around the clock?” He looked worried by that.

      “You must have