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couldn’t be.
    He still remembered every detail, every delicious curve of her soft, yielding body beneath him as he’d thrown himself on top of her and prayed the tree wouldn’t crash through the house. Then a few minutes later she’d brought him in here, and then he’d promptly passed out.
    He came fully awake with a jolt. The full implications of what he’d done to her hit him full force.
    Pointing a gun at her was unacceptable behavior. He felt like a louse. An asshole.
    “Welcome back. How are you feeling?” She sounded sunny, almost cheerful. Either she was a very forgiving woman or she was just being nice to him because he was on his deathbed. And from the way he felt, it was definitely the latter.
    His tongue felt so heavy, he could barely form words.
    “I feel like h—” His voice cracked and no other sound transpired.
    “Like heaven sent you back to earth. Right?”
    That wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted to say, but it would do for now.
    Her smile widened.
    “Just to reassure you, your fever has broken and you haven’t so much as coughed in a couple hours. I was afraid you might have had pneumonia, but I think I can safely say you’ve weathered the worst of the storm. How about something to drink? Think you can handle it?”
    He moistened his dry lips and tried to nod again, but his hammering headache increased with the sudden movement. So he simply stared pleadingly at her.
    “Be right back,” she said.
    Watching her tempting, shapely feminine hips sway deliciously against her pink housecoat, she strolled out of the room and his heart quickened its pace in his chest. Not to mention his cock grew painfully hard. At least his body’s sexual urges were still intact.
    His survival instincts were kicking in quite nicely, too. Without moving his head, he was able to sweep the rustic, homey room, and in no time flat had picked out the quickest escape route. A slightly open lace-covered, night-blackened window. Perfect.
    And for a weapon? His gaze raked the giant pioneer-style stone fireplace where an old musket hung above the mantel. He cast it off as being too old-fashioned. Most likely needing a musket ball instead of bullets.
    He let his gaze waver along the top of the gray stone mantel where a handful of interesting-looking, slightly dented antique tea kettles sat decked out in colorful cheery bouquets of dried flowers. He was pleasantly surprised when he realized he could even name a few of the blossoms.
    Pink peonies, green ambrosia, pink clover, blue larkspur and marjoram. His favorite was a sandy-colored wicker basket loaded with crimson red mini roses delicately sprinkled with sphagnum moss.
    The old teapots reminded him of cowboys, fresh-brewed coffee over an open prairie campfire and long dusty cattle drives. His past? Or some spaghetti western he’d seen on TV? He probed his mind, but it was still filled with mass confusion. Bits and pieces of memories and visions that didn’t make any sense at all.
    Clamping down on the blossoming panic that he still had amnesia, he continued the search for a weapon. And that’s when he spotted it.
    He grinned despite the pain in his bruised face. A woman alone could never be too careful he thought as his gaze pinned onto the shiny six-inch steak knife gleaming happily on the nearby night table. Obviously in her haste to get him that drink, she’d forgotten to take her protection with her.
    With a knife close at hand, it was obvious she had not called the cops. And if she had, they’d both be cooling their heels on cold metal slabs at the local morgue. He didn’t know how he knew this to be true, but he did.
    Satisfied he was in safe hands, for at least the next split second, he settled snugly against the overwhelming softness of the pillow where he was greeted by her sweet scent. It was everywhere, on the pillows, on the comforter, on the sheets, even on him.
    He stared at the pale apple green wood boards on the ceiling and then at the pretty moss