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rolled up her jeans and kicked off her riding boots.
    “What now?” Heath wanted to know.
    “I’m going wading. The water’s calling my name—hear it?” She mimicked in a high-pitched voice, “Sarah … come cool your tootsies.”
    “The water’s bound to be cold. It comes from the mountains. Your feet will freeze.”
    “I’m not a wimp. I can take it.”
    He grinned, lay flat on the blanket and closed his eyes. “Watch your step. The rocks are slippery.”
    “I’ll be careful.”
    She jogged down the slight embankment and waded into the water tumbling across rocks and tree roots. The stream was liquid ice, and she would have retreated but didn’t want to give Heath the satisfaction of being right. In minutes, her feet were numb. Still she walked defiantly downstream.
    She hadn’t gone too far when she came to a small whirlpool in the middle of the stream where the water swirled clockwise. She bent down, intrigued by the cone-shaped motion. She couldn’t see the bottom of the creek bed. What she did see was a boy’s face smiling up at her. She almost screamed and jumped back, but the face looked so familiar that she stared and held her breath.
    His image was clear as a picture—smiling brown eyes, spiky brown hair, full lips and round dimpled cheeks. Her heart leapt with joy. She reached down to touch the achingly familiar face but only touched cold water. For an instant her blank memory cleared. “Justin!” she whispered. “Justin. Don’t leave me!”

8

    S arah heard Heath call her name, turned to see him wading down the stream toward her. She didn’t want him to know what she had seen in the whirlpool, didn’t want to confess that she remembered the name belonging to the face. She spun, made a production of falling and sat down in the water, forcing a laugh as she landed. “You were right,” she yelled to Heath. “I slipped.”
    He reached down to help her up. “You’re soaking wet.”
    “Just my bottom half.” Her teeth chattered as the cold water soaked into her jeans and then her skin.
    “Let me help,” he said. He scooped her up in his arms.
    His strength surprised her. He moved effortlessly, as if she’d been a leaf in the water.
    “I—I can walk,” she told him.
    He ignored her, carried her back over the rocks and up the embankment to the blanket. He rummaged in the picnic basket and dragged out a smaller blanket and wrappedit around her. He pulled her down beside him and rubbed her legs and feet with the rough wool. “It’s one of the horses’ blankets. I’m sorry, it’s all I have.”
    “I deserve it,” she said. “You warned me. My feet went right out from under me.”
    Heath studied her face, and Sarah was terrified that he might see through her lie. He smoothed her hair, damp from the stream’s splash. “Maybe a cupcake will help,” she said.
    He grinned, leaned over and grabbed a cupcake and held it tantalizingly close to her mouth. When she reached for it, he drew it back.
    “Are you going to tease me, a near drowning victim?”
    His eyebrow arched. “Put out your tongue.”
    She did and he swiped the sweet frosting onto it. “Yum,” she said, unable to pull her gaze away from his.
    “Yes, yum,” he repeated, setting the cupcake down and gathering her into his arms. He cradled her there, stroking her hair.
    She couldn’t break the spell of his eyes. “I must look awful.”
    “You’re beautiful,” he countered, running long fingers down her cheek.
    She shivered, but not because of the cold water. His touch muddied her mind, making the image of the boy—what was his name?—fade into a fog. Heath’s touch also sent a slow sensuous warmth over her skin. She lay againsthis chest, her heart picking up speed as his fingers slowly worked magic on her body. She closed her eyes, took deep breaths and tried to remember why she’d fallen into the stream. She felt his hand cup her chin, felt his lips brush her temple.
    “I love you, Sarah,” he said.
    Her