What the hell was that? For a split second, I wanted him. It’s a bond unlike any other I’ve ever felt with anyone. He’s utterly charming, that’s all. I brush the snow off my coat and out of my hair before I open the front door, but he stops me.

“Shay!” He comes up from behind me. “Please let me come in so we can talk.” He braces his arm on the doorframe.

“One hour, not a minute longer,” I say, and he grins like he just won a prize. It’s sexy and boyish at the same time. He reaches past me and opens the door for me.

“You build the fire. I’m going to go get a hot shower.”

I run up the stairs and hear him yell, “My hour doesn’t start until you are back down here.”

I strip out of my clothes and take my time in the hot spray of the water. My mind drifts. I don’t remember him, but something in me recalls the feel of him, his taste. When I kissed him back, it was like he reached inside and ignited a deep-seated desire that’s been hidden for years. If I can feel him, why can’t I remember him? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stick around to see if being here brings back memories. Perhaps being a million miles from where I belonged kept me from recalling who I am. If I really am Timber, then I owe it to him and his…my daughter to try to kick around the idea that I might really be her.

I wash the nape of my neck, trying to scrub my scar off like it will make me remember. I finish up before the water turns cold. Brushing my long, thick black hair, I weave it into a braid. I pull on a pair of gray sweatpants and a black turtleneck. I’m feeling much more enthusiastic about talking to him than I was a few hours ago.

As I tiptoe to the top of the stairs, I hear him strumming his guitar. He must have gone back outside to get it. He’s softly singing a really sad tune, but I can’t make out what it is.

I walk midway down, and I can clearly hear him singing “Life Ain’t Always Beautiful.” My breath hitches in my throat. Gary Allan is one of my favorite artists. I was in the studio with another musician the same day he was recording this song. The words struck a chord with me. “Life ain’t always beautiful, but I’ll be fine.” I’ve thought about the words to this song a million times, and now I’m hiding on the stairs, listening to a man that claims to be my husband sing and play the words to the song. If I were to ever believe in signs or fate, what have you, this would be the time.

He stops singing when he sees me at the bottom of the stairs. His brows that were creased with a deep sadness fill in when he gives me a sweet smile. He’s really very good looking. His broad shoulders straighten watching me check him out. It’s the first time that I’ve noticed that his chiseled face looks haggard. He looks down, running his hand through his mop of hair, then over the light stubble on his jawline. His full bottom lip is adorable. I touch my open lips recalling his taste.

He puts the guitar down and swaggers his muscular frame toward me. Reaching out with his left hand, he takes my hand and walks me to the couch to sit with him. He doesn’t release my hand. My gaze shifts to his ring finger. On it, is a tattoo.

“Was this your wedding band?” I run my finger over the top of the tattooed cross.

“No. I had this done a year after you died. People kept telling me it was time to move on, that I needed to take off my wedding ring. This was kind of a way to say, ‘go fuck yourselves.’ It was a way of keeping you with me, forever.” He turns his hand over and the black band going around his finger is the name Timber.

“What you went through must have been very difficult. I don’t remember losing someone that I loved like you loved…Timber.” I’m not ready to admit that I’m her.

His hand leaves mine, and he braces his head with it on the back of the couch. “When I had to walk through those church doors, my knees buckled. It was all so surreal up until that point. I couldn’t even breathe. My mom took Emmalyn out of my arms, and my dad steadied me. I made it through the service, but graveside, I lost it. I had wanted forever with you. My reality was that you weren’t coming home ever again. I kept thinking it was a bad dream and I’d wake up at any moment. When the casket was lowered down, it was like a bullet straight through my heart. I had been tangled up in you since the first day I laid eyes on you. I couldn’t fathom a life without you and how I would ever raise our daughter without her mother.” He’s had to take breaks, swallowing back pain as he tells me his story.

He continues with a quivering smile. “Thank God for my parents. I fell into such a depression that I didn’t want to get out of bed. I’m ashamed to say, that there were days I couldn’t even look at our own daughter. Even as an infant, all I saw was you.” He continues after a deep chuckle. “My mom gave me a swift kick in the ass. She forced me to survive. She left me alone for two days to take care of Emmalyn by myself. She hasn’t left my sight since, except for when I went into the military. It was a difficult decision to make, but I needed to get away, and I had already committed to it. I wanted our daughter to be proud of me and see a man that was strong and focused. It forced me to grow up in ways that I had never imagined. I loved being in the service.” He rubs his thigh.

“Is that from the ambush with Wolfe?” I point at his leg.

“Yeah, I got off pretty easy in comparison. It’s taken some time to recover, but my military days are over.”

I instinctively reach over and place my hand on his thigh. I want to comfort him even if it’s only in a small way. “It still hurts you?”

His gaze is glued to my hand. “Some days are worse than others.” He picks my hand up off his thigh and laces our fingers together.

“You have to understand that I don’t have any of those memories. You talked about me being dead. You thought it was a nightmare; this feels like a dream to me. I need time to process what you are telling me and some proof.”

He turns his head away from me. “I guess I was hoping being here with me would make you remember.”

I turn his chin toward me. “I want to, but it’s not something I have control over.”

His eyes search mine. “I can take you to go have your DNA tested.”

“I can do that, but I need you to tell me that you understand that this isn’t a choice for me. If I loved you and your daughter like you’ve said, I would have never left either of you.”

“I have no doubt that we would still be together. The problem is what do you do when you find out you are in fact Timber?”

“I don’t know. I have a life somewhere else.”

“You had a life somewhere else before you were in California.” His words are a little harsh.

I stand. “This is so hard. You have feelings for me that I don’t have for you.”

He stands and pulls me flush to his chest. “You will,” he says, capturing my mouth with his. The passion that he has for me rolls off him. I explore his mouth with my tongue. His kiss makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time. Warmth covers my body, and it feels like home.

We are both a little breathless when he pulls back. “Please, don’t leave until you’ve given us some time.”

“I promise I won’t go anywhere for two weeks. That’s how long I’ve rented this cottage for.”

“At the end of two weeks, you will be madly in love with me.” His smile covers his handsome face.

“It’s getting late. How about I make us some dinner?”

“I would love that, but my hour is up.” He pulls out of my arms, and the warmth I was feeling is gone.

“You could stay longer so we…so I could get to know you better.”

He opens the front door and snow has started falling again. He shuts it and turns my direction. “Only if you ask me to stay?”

“I would love for you to stay and have dinner with me.”

He cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Will you please stay and have dinner with me?” I want to roll my eyes, but his look is so adorable, I can’t.

“It depends.” He takes a step toward me.

I place my hands on my hips. “On what?”

“The only thing I remember you could make was a killer meatloaf, everything else was deadly.” He laughs.

I giggle, but I know that to be very true. “Maybe you should cook.”

“Deal. You sit your pretty little ass down and watch the master at work.”

I plop down on the couch, facing the kitchen. “Could you always cook?”

“No. You and I used to eat out a lot. My mom taught me how to cook as Emmalyn got older. She didn’t want her to be eating toddler food when she was a teenager.” He’s digging through the refrigerator as he talks.

I pick up his guitar and feel the wood face beneath my fingers. I prop it on my leg and start strumming a few notes.

“How does a big pot of chili sound?” He’s pulled beans out of the cabinet.

“Perfect.” I strum a tune.

He stops and looks at me. “Is that one of yours?”

I nod.

“It’s beautiful.” He starts chopping onions and throwing them in a pot.

I continue to play, but watch him as he moves around the kitchen. He seems very comfortable in his own skin. For a man that has been through so much tragedy, he seems happy. At least at this moment. I want to get to know him. Part of me needs to get to know him. His kiss sets my body on fire, bringing back something my body has missed, yearned for.

I change tunes and start softly singing “I Hope You Dance” by Lee Ann Womack.

A crashing noise has me on my feet. “Are you okay?”

He’s staring at me with his mouth wide open, and there is a shattered glass on the floor. “That song.”

I bend down and start picking up the broken pieces. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“I know, you would sing it to Emmalyn when she was still in your belly and then every night after she was born.”

I stand. He’s watching me. “I guess I’ve loved it longer than I thought.” I don’t know what else to say to him.

“I wish you could say that you remembered it.” He read my thoughts.

“Me too.” For the first time, I really mean it. This man knows so much about me. There is no way this is a coincidence. I’m starting to believe that I really am Timber. I turn from him as an overwhelming sense of desperation hits me. He loves me. What if I can’t love him back? It will break his heart.