I heard the teakettle’s whistle sound as I wiped condensation from a hot shower off the bathroom mirror. A man I didn’t know stared back at me.

He had blue eyes and wavy, brown hair to his shoulders. His nose was pretty straight, though the bridge had a bump. His teeth looked good, white and even. He had three silver fillings. Full lips, hardly any wrinkles, and no gray hairs—that could be from dye, of course, but still. His body was solid and hairy. Nice big dick.

Even with his injuries, the man looking back at me was damn hot. Luke liked him.

“How’re you doing in there?” he asked from the other side of the door.

“Fine.”

I could hear him hovering as I pulled on a pair of navy blue sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt with a giant yellow “M” on it. They couldn’t possibly be his—such a little guy would swim in both. But everything I’d worn yesterday was in the hamper with the sheets that he’d said smelled like smoke. He did laundry at a laundromat, so that would have to wait. No problem.

Still slightly dizzy if I moved too fast and physically drained, I could’ve happily stayed in bed all day. I shied away from the knowledge that I’d prefer to do that with Luke in there with me. Shouldn’t think like that. This wasn’t hooking up with a stranger; I didn’t know who I was.

Luke had said before my shower that he’d read somewhere about how near asphyxiation and a blow to the head could cause amnesia. Ironically, he couldn’t remember whether such a cause was usually temporary or not.

The wind howled outside the little window behind me as I walked carefully to the bathroom door and opened it. Luke was, predictably, right there on the other side of it.

“Can we call a doctor?” I asked.

He had already explained that we were on his island in the northwest end of a lake in North Dakota. The ATV was his transportation to the edge of the island, over a small bridge, and around the lake to the small town of Tuckerville. He came up here to paint, he’d explained, this time commissioned for six scenes of a Western American winter. I wondered if, like so many overworked people, I could envy his free, artistic life.

He blew out a breath and looked a bit pained for a moment. “I broke my cell phone. I left it with a friend in town who likes to tinker with things like that and was going to get it back the next time I went down.”

No phone and trapped on an island. What would Gilligan do? And why can I remember that by not my own name? My head ached, my stomach was empty, and my throat hurt.

He grinned. “I swear it’s not the setup for a horror movie.”

I glared at him, but he just chuckled and took my arm. He guided me into the kitchen and had me sit at the table. He poured hot water from a red kettle into twin mugs with tea bags waiting, and I looked around.

The kitchen was really only a section of the cabin divided by the open-sided fireplace in the center of the single, large room. The bed was a double over against one wall with a couch opposite and facing the fireplace. A big flatscreen hung above the mantel with lots of electronic toys underneath. Probably got boring out here sometimes…

Everything about the place was rustic and compact, but Luke had plenty of modern conveniences and all of it seemed comfortable. Like a nice place for a secret getaway.

Getaway… Get away?

I realized he was still talking. “What?”

He squinted at me. “I said we’ll head into town after we eat because it’ll take most of the day to get there.”

All day? On that overgrown motorcycle? I shook my head and immediately regretted that move when the room wobbled. He braced my shoulder which meant I’d wobbled and not the room. I reached for my mug of tea, hoping it would soothe my throat enough to let me talk easier.

“You’re thinking you can’t ride right now,” he said as he watched me. His one hand stayed on my shoulder and the other hovered under the mug like he thought he’d have to catch it. Damn thing was kind of heavy, actually.

Warmth and sweetness coated my throat in happiness. I sighed, and then drank some more.

“Well,” he said, continuing the conversation without me, “I guess you’re not in any immediate danger. Rest, food, and something for your headache might help a lot.”

“Tomorrow.” Oh, good. I hardly croaked at all.

“If you’re sure.” He looked concerned. “I don’t know if there are any treatments for amnesia and I really hope you don’t have a concussion. I think we’ve got everything else under control.” He shrugged. “It’s really up to you.”

“Tomorrow.”

“All right, then.” He eyed me and my mug for a moment more, then got up and went to the little, old-fashioned refrigerator. “How about some scrambled eggs?”

I shrugged. Did I like eggs?