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not blame him for thinking her a fallen woman. Her voice shook. She did not expect him to believe her, but forced herself to add, “You are the only man I have ever shared a bed with. Except for my husband, of course.”

    She could stay in the room no longer, with those eyes boring into her. She couldn’t meet their icy blaze, couldn’t bear to see the look in them. She snatched up the bowl and ran downstairs.
    He watched her go, his head splitting, his mind a whirl. They were strangers? Then why would he feel this ease in her company, this sense of belonging? She didn’t feel like a stranger. He’d never felt so right, so much at home as he had in bed that morning, bringing Ellie to sweet, sensual wakefulness…as if she were a part of him.
    Unanswered questions gnawed at his vitals like rats. What the devil was his name? It seemed to be floating somewhere just beyond him…hovering there, on the tip of his tongue…but each time he tried for it, it drifted out of reach. He tried some names, hoping one would leap out at him, bringing the rest of his identity tumbling with him. Abraham…Allan…Adam… Was he an Adam, perhaps? He tasted it on his tongue. Familiar, yet also strange.
    Bruce…David…Daniel… Was he trapped in the lion’s den? He smiled and wriggled lower in the bed. His Ellie could be a little lioness when roused… She’d certainly roused him. Edward…Gilbert…James… He pulled the bedclothes around him. He could smell Ellie on them. He inhaled deeply and felt his body respond instantly. Walter…William… He dozed.
    “Hello, Papa.” A little voice pulled him back from the brink of sleep. He opened his eyes. A pair of big blue eyes regarded him seriously across an old cheese box.
    “Hello, Amy.” He sat up, drawing the sheets up with him, across his chest.
    “Does your head hurt a lot?”

    The headache had dwindled to a dull thump. “No, it feels a lot better, thank you.”
    “Mama says you don’t know who you are.”
    He grimaced ruefully. “That’s right. I can’t even remember my name. I don’t suppose you know my name, do you?” He tensed when the child unexpectedly nodded her head. Had Ellie not told him the truth after all? He’d had a feeling she hisiding something.
    The little girl carefully put the cheese box on to the bed and then climbed up after it. She sat cross-legged and regarded him solemnly. “I think your name might be…” Her big blue eyes skimmed his chin, the top of his chest and along his arms.
    He had not the faintest notion of what she found so interesting.
    “Your name is…” She leaned forward and hesitantly touched his jaw and giggled. She sat back, her eyes full of mischief and said, “I think your name is…Mr. Bruin.”
    “Mr. Bruin?” He frowned. Bruin meant bear. “Mr. Bear?”
    “Yes, because you are big and even your face is hairy.” The little girl chortled in glee. “Just like a bear!”
    He had to laugh at her neat trick. So, he looked like a big hairy bear to a little girl, did he? He ran a hand over his jaw. Maybe she was right. He did need a shave.
    “If you think I’m a bear, then why did you call me Papa?”
    She glanced guilty at the doorway. “Mama says I’m not s’posed to call you that. You won’t tell, will you?”
    “No, I won’t tell.” Again he wondered what Mama was trying to hide.
    She beamed at him.

    “But if your mama does not like you to call me Papa, maybe you could call me Mr. Bruin instead.” It was better than having no name at all.
    Her face screwed in thought, then she nodded. “Yes, that will be a good game. And you can call me Princess Amy. Do you like dolls, Mr. Bruin? I hope you don’t eat them.”
    He resigned himself to being a little girl’s playmate for the afternoon. It was better than cudgelling his aching brain for information which would not come, he supposed.
    “Oh, no,” he said firmly. “We bears never eat dolls.”
    She looked at him suspiciously. “Bears might eat my