The Baseball Card Boyfriend (Starrycard Creek Bachelors #3)

Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

MAGGIE

Maggie sighed as a steady, distant tap wove through the dreamy haze.

No, it wasn’t quite a tap. It was a ting .

Ting, ting, ting.

Like a metal measuring spoon meeting the edge of a mixing bowl. A pleasing sound, a comforting sound. But something was amiss. A scent? A taste?

What a curious thought.

She inhaled a slow, steady breath.

The sterile scent of antiseptic mingled with the aroma of fresh flowers. She didn’t know what she should be smelling, but whatever was in the air was not what she’d expected. Her fingers twitched against cool sheets. She had to be in bed. Okay, that was a start. She moved her thumb, brushing it along the soft fabric, and was rewarded for the effort. A warm hand enveloped hers as a gentle voice pierced the groggy layer of slumber.

“Maggie, can you hear me?”

She focused on the voice—a man’s voice laced with tenderness. It coaxed her from the sleepy shadows. She wanted to open her eyes, but her eyelids were heavy, so heavy. Still, his voice anchored her to the present, guiding her out of the misty darkness. She opened her eyes and blinked, not recognizing the man. He watched her intently, like she was the center of his world.

She swallowed, a tight, labored motion. “Who is Maggie?” she whispered.

He leaned in. “You are. You’re Maggie.” The concern in his eyes gradually gave way to relief, and he gifted her with an endearing half-grin.

“I’m Maggie? That’s me?” she asked. Why was confirming her name a difficult task? Why couldn’t she access this information? It was an odd sensation, like walking through a library and finding every book filled with blank pages.

“Yes, your name is Maggie,” he answered, his smile fading as his worried expression returned.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Christian.”

“Christian,” she repeated. She stared into his sage-green eyes, which were striking despite the dark circles underneath them. One eye appeared to be a touch black and blue. Strange. There was an unkempt attractiveness to his appearance. His sharp jawline was covered in messy stubble, giving him a rugged, mountain man air. He wore a ball cap over a dark tangle of hair. His wrinkled white T-shirt had writing on it. Starrycard Creek Paper Company . The shirt stretched across his broad chest. He was a big man with a muscular build, the kind who must command the attention of a room without even trying. A sling on his left arm hinted at a recent injury. Despite her close examination, she couldn’t place him.

“Do I know you?” she asked, her gaze darting to their clasped hands. Logic told her to let go of the stranger’s hand, but a peculiar connection held her back.

“You were on my land. We rescued a dog together.”

“We rescued a dog?” she repeated, unsure if she was awake or dreaming.

“He was stuck on the railroad tracks, and a train was coming. Do you remember that?” Christian continued.

“No, I don’t remember.” Her brain felt like a bowl of three-day-old oatmeal. How could she forget about saving a dog from an oncoming train? It sounded memorable—and remarkably terrifying. “Is the dog okay?”

Christian squeezed her hand. “Yes, Lucky’s fine. He misses you.”

“Is Lucky my dog?” She didn’t recall having a pet.

What was happening?

“No…well, yes, maybe? He might be ours now.”

“Ours?”

“There haven’t been any reports of a missing dog. My niece has been taking care of him for us.”

Us?

She tried to recall the animal but came up with nothing. And coming up with nothing might as well be her mantra. Who was this guy? She peered at her left hand. No ring. That seemed to rule out the man being her husband. “Are you my boyfriend? Are we related?”

He glanced away. “No.”

She took in his sling and his eye, then gasped. “Did you get hit by the train?”

“No, I had shoulder surgery a couple of months ago for a condition called avascular necrosis, and the eye…”

She eyed the discolored skin. “What about your eye?”

He cringed. “You did that to me.”

What kind of person was she? “I punched you in the eye?” she exclaimed.

“It was an accident. You got me with your elbow.”

Her life was getting crazier by the second—and she didn’t recall even one iota of it.

She inhaled a shaky breath. “Let me get this straight. My name is Maggie. You and I saved a dog from being hit by a train. A dog that may or may not be mine or ours. Then I elbowed you in the eye?” she asked as if she wasn’t quite familiar with the rules of this place that she sure as hell hoped was Earth.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“My name is Maggie,” she repeated, hoping it would jumpstart her addled mind.

It didn’t.

Christian shifted in his seat. “You told me your name was Maggie. It was also embroidered on your child-sized apron.”

Child-sized apron? Forget crazy. They’d hit Bonkersville.

“Why was I wearing an apron made for a child? Where is this apron? Can I see it?”

“It’s not here. McKenzie, my niece, the one who’s been caring for Lucky, has it. She’s seven. It fits her, and she wanted to wash it for you. My family’s been coming by to see how you’re doing. That’s where all the flowers came from,” he said, gesturing to the windowsill.

She peered at the line of vases. “Do I know your family?”

“You briefly met my brother after we saved the dog. Do you remember Owen?”

Owen?

“No.” The room went topsy-turvy. She blinked, struggling to regain her bearings. She pushed up onto her elbows. She was on some type of incline and needed a better look at her surroundings.

“Careful,” he cautioned, releasing her hand and rising to his feet. Gently, he slipped his good arm beneath her and helped her sit up. His touch was familiar, like he’d held her, like he knew her body. But who was he to her? Try as she might, she couldn’t connect the dots.

And where the heck was she?

She looked around, taking in the sterile white walls, the rhythmic beeping of medical monitors, and the IV stand next to her bed. She peered at the needle in her left arm. “Am I in the hospital? Am I sick?”

Christian returned to his seat and took her hand. “You hit your head on the railroad tracks after we saved the dog. You lost consciousness.”

“Was I in a coma?”

“Yes.”

She patted her face, chest, and shoulders. “Am I awake? I don’t mean to be rude. But is this really happening?” She paused as a fuzzy half-recollection hit. “I feel like I’ve asked that question before.”

“This is real. You started to wake up yesterday. The nurses told me it was a positive sign, and then your neurologist said that your last scans were good. The swelling in your brain had gone down. But then you were out again. They left an IV in your arm for fluids.”

Holy wow!

“Have you been here with me?” she asked, peering past him at a stack of to-go boxes with the words Goldie’s on the Creek stamped to the side. A slew of empty water bottles around the trash can joined the mound of take-out containers.

“Yeah, I’ve been here the entire time.”

She watched him, wishing her brain would give her something. “Again, I apologize if this sounds rude, but who are you to me?”

His mouth opened and closed like a confused flounder.

Why was he struggling to answer what should have been a simple question? He traced slow circles on her palm with his thumb, a movement that felt like a distant memory, before offering her the hint of a boyish grin. “I’m someone who didn’t want you to be alone when you woke up.”

They didn’t have a relationship, but they’d saved a dog together, and he didn’t seem to know her beyond that.

She frowned. Nothing was adding up. “How long have I been here?”

“A week.”

“A week?” she whisper-shouted, anxiety seeping in.

Whoever she was, she’d been missing from a life she didn’t recall for seven days. Seven days! What if she had a job and a family? There had to be someone out there worried about her, right?

A nurse peeked in through the open door. “Well, well, it’s good to see you awake, Maggie. I’ll get the doctor. How’s our patient doing, Christian?”

“She’s a bit confused,” he replied, concern flickering in his eyes.

“A week,” Maggie whispered, unable to focus on the nurse or put the pieces of her life together because there were no pieces.

Nothing.

Christian continued rubbing slow circles against her palm. “Just breathe, Maggie. It’s okay. Let’s take it slow. Tell me anything you remember. How about your last name.”

She shook her head. “I should be able to tell you my last name.” But she couldn’t. She wasn’t even sure if her name was Maggie or Margaret or Marjorie, Magdalena, Magnolia, or Marguerite. And hello, jolt of panic, take three? Four? Five? The beeping increased to a rapid thrum. The frantic sound amplified like somebody had cranked up the volume.

“Let’s stick with Maggie. You’re my Maggie. Just keep breathing. Focus on me. We’re in this together,” he said gently, squeezing her hand.

What was this man talking about?

“I’m your Maggie? I thought we just met. What’s happening?” she demanded.

For the space of a breath, pain flashed in his eyes. “Yes, sorry, I’m a little sleep deprived. You’re just Maggie. I think you were coming to see me when you noticed a dog stuck on the tracks. I saw you and ran to help.”

She kept shaking her head. Nothing made sense.

She pegged him with her gaze. “Why do you think I would come to see you?”

“You had these items with you.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a stone and a baseball card.

“No purse? No ID? No phone? Just those things?” she pressed.

“Yes,” he answered softly, like he’d wished he could give her more and ease her anxiety.

She studied the peculiar items. “That rock is a lovely little thing.” She touched the surface. “I wonder who would scrape two lines on it and…” She looked between the card and the man. “Wait, that’s you. You played baseball for Rocky Mountain University?”

“Yes.”

She perked up. “I could have gone to school there. We could have met there. The school is in Colorado, right?” Okay, she knew something. Hooray for basic geography. “What state are we in now?” she asked, excitement beginning to edge out fear.

“Colorado. You’re in Starrycard Creek, Colorado.”

She nodded, working to weave together the fragments. “I’m probably from this state. That has to be how we know each other.”

She figured he’d be thrilled by this information. But his pained expression conveyed the opposite.

“I know we didn’t meet there.”

“How do you know?” she pressed, grasping at anything that could give her a window into her life.

“Even if you did attend RMU, I’m pretty sure I’m older than you—old enough that we wouldn’t have attended at the same time.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“And I’m…” She paused as another fact about her life came up blank.

“I’m guessing you’re closer in age to my youngest sister. She’s in her early twenties. So even if you went to RMU, we wouldn’t have met there, and…” He brushed his thumb across her knuckles.

“And?” she repeated, her voice a wisp of a sound as his touch set off butterflies in her belly.

Why was she reacting to a stranger’s touch like a starry-eyed schoolgirl?

“And if I had met you, I would have remembered.” His boyish half-grin returned.

Yowza! He was a beautiful man. Despite the void where her memories should be, she felt an inexplicable bond with him, as if her soul recognized him in a way her mind couldn’t.

But could she trust him?

A knock snapped her out of it. She slipped her hand from his grasp and peered at a woman in a white coat standing in the doorway. “You must be my doctor.”

“Yes, hello, Maggie, I’m Doctor Ironside, a neurologist here at Creek County Hospital. It’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” The woman had a grandmotherly warmth about her.

“I’m confused, doctor,” Maggie began. “I can’t remember anything. Has anyone come for me who knows me? Has anyone called looking for someone named Maggie?”

The doctor offered a placating grin. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“We’ve taken the extra steps of sharing your description with the Sheriff’s Department since you were admitted as Maggie with no last name.”

Maggie froze. Every muscle in her body tensed, her eyes darting wildly as if searching for some rational explanation. “And nobody’s looking for me? The police haven’t heard anything?”

“No, but Mr. Starrycard’s been with you the entire time.”

Maggie glanced at Christian. A man who barely knew her had stayed by her side while she was in a coma, and nobody else on the planet seemed to know she was missing.

No, no, no! This could not be happening.

She wrapped her arms around her body. After a week’s absence, someone must be worried. Or did she have no one? A knot formed in her belly.

Who was she?

“May I check you over?” the doctor asked, removing her stethoscope from around her neck.

“Yeah…okay,” Maggie answered, trying to stay calm, but it was getting harder by the second to remain composed.

“Let me share what we know,” the doctor said gently. “We’ve been monitoring your vitals, and I’ve gone over your scans. Mr. Starrycard reported that you hit your head on the railroad track. You suffered a cerebral contusion. That’s a bruise on your brain tissue. The condition is often accompanied by swelling. This led to a loss of consciousness.”

Maggie searched the woman’s face for answers. “I don’t remember falling.”

“What do you remember?”

Maggie closed her eyes. Feeling Christian’s gaze on her, she worked to access something—anything. Again, she failed. She sighed, her heart racing. “I don’t remember anything about myself or how I got here. And you’re sure no one is looking for me?” She glanced at Christian. His jaw had tightened as deep concern welled in his eyes.

“No, I checked again before coming in,” the doctor answered. “No one has contacted the hospital or law enforcement looking for anyone named Maggie or anyone with your description.”

Christian reached out, his hand trembling as he took hers. “We’ll figure this out. I promise,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

She blinked back tears and turned to the doctor. “What’s happening to me? Why can’t I remember?”

“You’ve experienced head trauma, leading to amnesia,” the doctor explained, her expression growing solemn.

“Amnesia,” Maggie repeated, wide-eyed. “That really happens to people?”

“It’s rare, but it does occur. The brain is incredibly complex. It processes mental and physical trauma differently in each person, which is why your memory loss is wholly unique to you. The good news is that with the brain’s ability to adapt and recover, there’s hope for regaining some or all of your memories over time.”

Maggie exhaled a shaky breath. “How do I do this? Where do I do this? I don’t know where I live. I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone, Maggie,” Christian countered.

“But we just met,” she said, fear taking over.

“That might be true, but I believe you came to town to return the stone and card to me. You’re here because of me and…I’m here because of you.”

I’m here because of you? What did that even mean?

She drew in another uneven breath. Her body ached to move, to get out of this room, this place. She studied the IV in her arm. “Doctor, can you remove the IV? I don’t think I’m comfortable in hospitals. I’m feeling anxious, and this needle in my arm isn’t helping.”

“I can do that,” the doctor replied. “Aversion to hospitals is something you have in common with your companion. My cousin sends his regards, Mr. Starrycard.”

Christian’s gaze flicked to the ground. “Give him my best.”

“I also hear the physical therapy department misses you,” the doctor chided, eyeing Christian before peeling back the medical tape and removing the IV.

Christian released her hand and stood back to let the doctor work, but the man was agitated. His tense demeanor spoke volumes. “I’m aware I’ve missed a few appointments.”

“Maggie, I’m not sure if you know this, but Christian Starrycard is our local celebrity,” Dr. Ironside continued.

Maggie studied the man. “You’re a celebrity?”

He shrugged. “I used to be a professional baseball player. That’s what I did after college.” He adjusted his sling. “What are Maggie’s next steps for her care, doc?” he asked, his demeanor still tense as he changed the subject.

But she didn’t need Christian to advocate for her. She knew what she wanted.

“I’d like to leave the hospital…now,” she blurted before the doctor could answer. “Getting out into the world might be the key to unlocking my past.”

The doctor pursed her lips. “While your labs and scans are normal, I’d like you to stay a bit longer in the hospital for observation. You shouldn’t be alone so soon after gaining consciousness.”

“But I need to go. I can’t be here,” she said as forcefully as she could.

Worry creased the doctor’s brow. “Let’s wait a few days. It’s dangerous to be alone after a head injury. And your memory loss gives me more reason to keep you here.”

Maggie shuddered. It was as if the walls in the tiny room were closing in on her. “No…please…I can’t stay here. Hospitals make me anxious. I don’t know if that’s something I always felt or if it’s new, but I’ll do whatever you tell me to do—just not here.”

“Maggie will stay with me,” Christian said, stepping forward. “She won’t be alone, doc. I know a thing or two about head injuries. I’ve had teammates get clocked. I’m familiar with the protocols. I know what to look for if Maggie needs medical attention.”

“You’d do that for me? You’d let me live with you?” she asked, wide-eyed. Who was he to her? There had to be something he wasn’t telling her.

“I have an enormous ranch. Twelve bedrooms—all suites. There’s plenty of room. Think of it like a bed-and-breakfast for?—”

“People who can’t remember their last name?” she said, cutting him off. And where did that sassy comment come from?

But Christian seemed to like it. He offered her the hint of that boyish half-grin. “Sure, it’s a niche market. The Amnesia B and B. Our motto: You won’t remember if our service sucks.”

“You should probably come up with a better name,” she replied, staring into his eyes as a calmness washed over her. Ten seconds ago, she was on the cusp of a breakdown, and now she was joking about memory loss. Whoever he was, this man seemed to steady her.

His whisper of a smile widened. “I’ll work on the name.”

The frenzied emotions swirling inside her eased up a fraction. She had a place to go. Now, she had to convince the doctor she was well enough to leave.

She held the woman’s gaze. “I’d like to check myself out of the hospital and stay with Christian…Mr. Starrycard. The guy with a ranch. The man with twelve rooms catering to amnesia, which sounds rather silly. And I know there’s nothing funny about memory loss or a ranch for people who can’t remember their last name or how old they are. Because it’s never nice to make fun of a medical condition. That’s cruel, but sometimes you’ve got to laugh, or you’ll cry, right?” What was happening with her mouth? “I’m sorry,” she said, touching her lips after spewing that word salad extravaganza. “I don’t know why I’m blathering on.”

“It’s something you do when you’re anxious,” Christian answered.

She stared at the man. “Is it? How do you know that?”

“You did the same thing after we saved the dog.”

That had to be a promising sign.

She pegged the doctor with her gaze. “Look, I did something pre-amnesia Maggie would do, so I must be on the road to recovery.”

Dr. Ironside tapped the side of the bed, her lips pursed as she appeared to mull over the situation. “We certainly don’t want to keep you in a distressing environment.” She paused, then nodded to herself. “All right, Maggie, I’ll allow you to leave, but I’d like you to start taking a medication that will help with your anxiety.”

“I can do that.”

“And you must promise me that you won’t be alone,” the doctor continued.

“I’ll be with her. I won’t let her out of my sight. You have my word,” Christian said, his tone commanding and resolute.

The doctor’s demeanor sharpened. “If you experience any dizziness or nausea, I want you back at the hospital. No toughing it out. No ignoring symptoms. And you need to take the meds and let me know if you experience any side effects. Can you agree to that?”

“I can,” Maggie said, her voice trembling with relief.

Dr. Ironside removed an iPad from her jacket pocket, entered some information, and gave Christian a once-over. “It appears you’re in good hands, Maggie. I’ll have your discharge papers and that medication sent immediately. It’ll also have resources to help get you back on your feet. I encourage you to get follow-up care.”

“Do I have to return to the hospital for that?” Maggie glanced around the sterile room, her chest tightening as if it were preparing for another pang of anxiety.

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, good.”

“The Starrycard Creek Senior Center offers counseling, therapeutic, and rehabilitation services. That goes for you as well, Christian. I’m sure they’d welcome you with open arms…now,” the doctor added, biting back a grin.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, not meeting the woman’s gaze.

What was that all about?

No, she couldn’t worry about that. She had enough on her plate.

She released a heavy breath, her shoulders relaxing. “Thank you, Dr. Ironside, for everything.”

The doctor rested her hand on the end of the hospital bed. “Be patient with yourself. I know it’s easier said than done, but don’t stress too much about trying to remember everything at once. Routine and structure are important. Spend time outside and follow a schedule. Fall is a glorious season in the mountains.”

Maggie nodded, excitement building, so close to getting out of this place. “Routine and schedule. Got it.”

The doctor took a step toward the door, then stopped. “And if anyone contacts the hospital looking for you, we’ll get in touch.”

“Thank you.”

“One last thing,” the woman said, watching Christian from the corner of her eye. “Get a notebook. Start journaling. Track your new memories and experiences. Write whatever comes to mind. That should be something Mr. Starrycard can help you with.”

“Do you journal?” Maggie asked, watching her new roommate closely.

With the mention of journaling, the coolness in his demeanor thawed a fraction. “No, not really. I believe the good doctor is referring to my family’s artisan papermaking business. We make pretty spectacular notebooks.”

She glanced at his shirt. “Is that a papermaking business? The Starrycard Creek Paper Company?”

“That’s it,” he replied, warmth returning to his tone.

“I have a final piece of advice,” the doctor said from the doorway. “Be open to new experiences. I believe your memories will return, Maggie. I have a feeling you’ll find your path.”

Her path. Why did that feel familiar?

“I hope you’re right,” she answered as a fleeting flash of red echoed in her mind.

“Are you okay?” Christian asked after the doctor left the room.

She brushed off the feeling and examined the pink hospital gown. A fading glimmer of recognition returned, then receded. She strained to recall why another color called to her—doing exactly what the doctor had told her explicitly to avoid. She wrote off the odd inkling and met Christian’s gaze. “I don’t know what I enjoy.”

He lit up. “You like pie.”

“Pie?” she repeated.

Wide-eyed, his jaw dropped. “You don’t remember what pie is? The dessert. It’s like crusty cake but not really cake.”

“No,” she said, unable to stop herself from laughing at the crusty-cake line. “I know what pie is. It’s just a totally random thing for you to know about me. Did I tell you that?”

“You did. We didn’t talk much. We were mostly engaged in freeing the dog and not getting hit by a freight train, but after we were safe and coming down from the adrenaline high, you mentioned pie. That was when you went off on a tangent. And you smelled like pie. You might have had some pie in your hair.” He said these things like they were endearing, not mind-blowingly bizarre.

“And for some reason, I had your college baseball card and a scratched-up rock that might belong to you?” she asked, mulling over the facts.

“I’m not sure how you got them or why you have them, but they had to be what led you to me,” he replied, then looked away like he had when the doctor put him on the spot.

He was leaving something out. She could feel it. Or was her mind playing tricks on her? Whatever it was, she’d worry about it after they’d left the hospital. She peered at a stack of clothing on a chair with a pair of brown boots beneath it. “Are those mine?” she asked and gestured to the neat pile.

“Yeah, I washed them for you,” he said, handing them over.

She held the items to her chest and waited for him to leave, but the man didn’t budge. “I’d like to get dressed.”

“Okay.”

“Can I have a little privacy?”

He stood his ground. “I’m not taking my eyes off you. You heard Dr. Ironside’s instructions. You shouldn’t be left alone.”

“You want to see me naked?”

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. “No, Jesus, no way! I mean…I’m not saying no way like I would be turned off by it. You’re beautiful, absolutely perfect. You might have the cutest nose I’ve ever seen. Your eyes. They’re just right. Hazel with flecks of gold and green. Christ, they’re spellbinding. And your body is… I mean, who wouldn’t want to see you naked? Shit! I meant that as a statement of fact. But that sounded wrong, really wrong. And sexist and creepy, and I’m not a creepy guy. I realize only creepy guys will probably tell you they’re not creepy, but I promise you, I’m not creepy. I’m un-creepy , anti-creepy . Those aren’t words, and…now I sound like you did after the train.”

His anxious rambling was rather charming.

“How about you close the door and look away for a moment?” she suggested, suppressing a grin.

Knowing he was nervous made her more at ease.

He exhaled an audible breath. “That’s a solid plan, but first, I’m helping you out of bed.”

She waved him off. “No, I can do it.”

He frowned, his gaze darkening. And holy intensity! This was not the awkward man from thirty seconds ago. No, this man was not messing around. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear, Maggie,” he said, coming to her side. “I wasn’t asking for your permission to help you. How many times do I have to say this? You’re not doing this alone.”

Wowza! The man could take charge.

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Okay,” she answered, her voice carrying a breathy, sultry note.

He slipped his good arm around her. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” she whispered, striving to maintain control, but his touch sent her pulse racing.

“Are you feeling dizzy or lightheaded?”

She turned toward him, a motion that her body seemed to recognize. “No, I’m steady. But what about your shoulder? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You could never hurt me,” he said against the shell of her ear, his voice a low rasp.

She nodded. It was all she could do.

With a steady hand, he helped her off the hospital bed. Her bare feet hit the cold linoleum, and the sudden icy shock forced a gasp from her lips. She shivered, and he tightened his grip, holding her close.

“It’s just the floor. It’s a bit cool. You can let go,” she said, her tone far more breathless than she’d anticipated.

“No, not yet. Take a second to acclimate yourself. Your only movement this past week has been from the passive range of motion and mobility exercises I performed on you while you were comatose.”

What?

She looked up at him. The man was stone-cold—or linoleum cold—serious. “What did you perform on me?” she asked, rethinking his un-creepy line.

“Stretches and some mobility exercises.”

She stepped away from the man. “The hospital let you do that to me…on me…for me?”

He shrugged, but a smirk played on his lips. “It’s amazing what they’ll let local celebrities do.”

She scoffed. “You said you were un-creepy . That sounds super creepy.”

“Okay, ease up there. For the record, no, I didn’t ask if I could do it, but I studied biology and kinesiology in college. When it comes to the body, I know what I’m doing. Bodies are made to move. They heal more quickly that way. You feel okay standing, don’t you?”

She did a little march in place, testing her balance. “I feel great. Oddly solid.”

That slightly cocky half-grin appeared. “Good. The chair is right there if you need it to maintain your balance,” he said and kept his gaze locked on her.

“Christian?”

“Uh-huh?” he replied, that sexy smile still gracing his lips.

“Turn around.”

“Right, sorry,” he stammered, losing the sweet swagger as he closed the door and stared at it.

She wriggled out of the pink hospital gown, eyed the unfamiliar clothing on the chair, then started dressing.

“Do your clothes fit?” he asked, his back still to her.

She zipped the jean skirt. “Yes, why?”

“It’s good you have amnesia. You probably don’t recall that your shirt was white.”

She studied the garment. “It’s light pink now.”

He shifted his stance. “That’s because I accidentally washed your clothes with a red T-shirt of mine. I didn’t know it was even in the washing machine. The thing is a beast. The last cleaning person must have left it in there.”

“When did you do my laundry?”

“My mom convinced me to head home to take a shower yesterday, and I decided I’d wash your clothes while I was home.”

“I see.”

“And then I washed them on hot. In my defense, I’ve never run the damn thing before. It has a control panel like something off a space shuttle. I just pounded on the keyboard till it started.”

She stifled a chuckle. “You don’t know how to run a washing machine? I have amnesia, and I’m pretty sure I could figure it out.”

“I’ve used a washing machine before. I have five siblings. Growing up, we had chores, and laundry was one of them, but the washing machine I had put in at the ranch is next level.”

“Oh, I bet,” she said through a giggle.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No,” she said, now doubled over with laughter.

“It sounds a hell of a lot like you’re laughing,” he replied with a sly teasing edge to his words.

“Maybe a little,” she replied, regaining control as she put on her socks and boots. She finished dressing, then peered at herself in the mirror. She smoothed her blouse, taking in her appearance. Her strawberry-blond hair was braided. The tail curved past her shoulder and around her collarbone. “Hello, Maggie,” she whispered, peering at the stranger.

“Did you say something?” Christian asked.

“No, just mumbling. I’m ready. I’m dressed,” she answered, severing the connection to the girl in the mirror.

He turned and froze. His eyes softened, and he swallowed hard. His confident demeanor dissolved into quiet awe as he drank her in.

“Is something wrong?” she asked after a lingering stretch of silence.

He looked at her like he’d seen her face a thousand times and wanted to see it a thousand more. “No, you’re exactly what you’re supposed to be.”

She tried to decipher the man’s words but couldn’t. She touched the tail of her braid. “Was my hair like this when we met? It feels different.”

He took a step toward her. “Your hair was loose when we met.”

“Did you braid it?”

He chuckled. “No, ask my niece. I’m a disaster with girls’ hair. I tried to put her hair in a ponytail once. It took me damn near an hour. My sister, Eliza, my niece, my sister-in-law, Izzy, and my brother Finn’s fiancée, Hailey, were all in on the braid decision and execution.”

“Wow, that’s quite an operation for braiding.” She glanced at the flowers. “And they’ve all visited me?”

“Yes.”

“That was kind of them. They sound lovely,” she said as a whisper of longing tugged at her heart.

The ghost of a grin curled the corners of his mouth. “You might feel differently when you meet them. They’re good people—the best. But they’re also…a lot.”

She couldn’t help but smile, her heart warmed by the sight of his genuine affection for his family. “I think you like a lot .”

His expression grew serious. “I’ve liked this time, the quiet times, here with you.”

“While I’ve been in a coma?”

He touched her cheek. “I’ll take you whatever way I can have you.”

And there it was again—that boyish ghost of a grin. He looked at her with such wonder and awe. There was something between them—there had to be. What was it about this man? Her mind had forgotten him, but a part of her recognized him and this connection they shared.

“Christian, how do you know me?” she whispered, searching his face.

Pain flashed in his eyes just as the door to the room opened.

“Maggie, last name to be determined,” a stout man with a nasally voice called as he entered the room, a stack of papers and a pill bottle in his hands, his hospital ID badge swinging around his neck.

Maggie, last name to be determined?

She blinked, regaining her bearings. “Yes, I guess that’s me.”

“I’ve got some meds and information for you.”

Her pulse kicked up. “Did someone contact the hospital asking about me?”

“No, I’m Bob from patient services. Here’s the medication the doctor wants you to take,” he said, handing her a bottle of pills. He held up a couple of sheets of paper. “And these are your discharge instructions. The last sheet is your medical billing invoice. There’s a number for a payment plan if you’re not able to cover the cost.”

She pocketed the pills, then scanned the second page, tracing line after line of charges. Her breath hitched as the air left her lungs. “So many numbers. So much money,” she whispered.

“Maggie, Maggie?” Christian called, but she couldn’t reply.

Her stomach twisted into knots. “Medical billing. Payment plan,” she stammered. Trembling, she fought the encroaching blackness as the edges of her vision blurred. No, this could not be happening. She couldn’t afford to faint. If she collapsed, they’d surely revoke her discharge order.

She latched on to one frantic thought.

Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.