Page 3 of I’m Not Yours

“Breathe in, Allie,” Jace said, holding an oxygen mask over my face.

That voice . That low, gravelly voice I had heard in my head every day for years. The pain came rolling on in, crashing against my insides. It was not pain from my leg.

It was pain from a long time ago; it should have been long gone. Tears filled my eyes, so for long seconds I left them closed, blocking out that face I knew so well, until I could gather my strength enough to open them.

When I did, I saw Jace and nurses, including Kevin, hovering around me.

“And hello again to our horse-loving friend who tried to escape the hospital,” Kevin said, clucking his tongue in admonishment. “I told you not to gallop off!”

Jace’s eyes were on mine and I could not look away.

I bet he thought the hay in my hair was attractive. Probably liked the circles under my eyes, too. I might well smell like a horse or a dog or both—a hordog. Why could I not have seen Jace again while wearing something silky and sweet, not bleeding and dirt covered?

“How are you feeling, Allie?”

I nodded, then took off the oxygen mask. His hand closed over mine over the mask, his fingers warm.

“I’m just dandy.”

I saw his eyes crinkle in the corners.

Sarcasm is my specialty. I used it to get through my childhood.

“Dandy, huh?” he said. “That’s why you passed out?”

“Yes. It was a swoon. Not a pass-out.”

The nurses laughed. I saw Jace’s mouth, that mouth I’d kissed a thousand times, turn upward the slightest bit. The smile, however, did not match the seriousness I saw in his expression. He knew why I had tried to leave.

“She swooned gracefully,” Kevin said. “There was definitely some elegance there.”

Jace seemed older, more experienced, the lines on his face more finely drawn. But—ah, shoot—sexier than ever. “Thank you, Kevin.”

“You’d call that a swoon?” Jace asked. “Didn’t look like much fun. You went white and then crumpled. I caught you before you crashed to the floor. Now you get to have your leg sewn up. More fun. A horse kicked you?”

I needed to mask what I was feeling, darn quick. Humor might work. I’d be humiliated if he knew what I was thinking, how crushed I felt looking at him. “She’s in menopause.”

“I’m sorry?” Jace said.

“I think she’s in menopause.”

“The horse is in menopause?”

I nodded. The nurses laughed.

“Spunky Joy appears to be having some emotional mood swings. She doesn’t like male horses.” I wondered if he was married. He didn’t have a wedding ring on, but that didn’t mean anything. Emergency room doctors who perform surgeries wouldn’t wear rings .

“No male horses?” Jace asked.

“No. She’s off men. She wants them to stay away.” I wondered if he had kids.

Something flickered in his eyes and I knew he was relating that statement to us. I wanted to tie my tongue into a knot.

“Her horse boyfriend, Leroy, entered the barn, and Spunky Joy backed right into me, then kicked. I figure she is either madly in love with Leroy or they’ve had a bit of a spat.

” I bet Jace loved his wife and kids dearly.

He had always wanted a family; he had been clear on that.

He would be an outstanding dad. I wanted to pull that silly hospital blanket over my head and sob my brains out.

Jace’s face finally started to relax, and he chuckled. It had been tight, focused, the second he saw me. “I’ll fix up your menopause wound and you’ll be good to go. You’re going to have to take off your pants.” I sucked in my breath.

Something flashed in his eyes and this sizzle—yep, it was a sizzle—shook between us.

“I’ll leave, don’t worry. But don’t try to escape again, or we’ll have to track you down. You need to be sewn up.” He left and the nurses helped me get my pants off, then Jace was back in.

While he stitched me up I could not look away from him. The nurses stayed for a bit, then left to tend to other patients.

“Whose horse was it, Allie?”

“My dad’s.”

I saw his jaw tighten, his gaze sharp on mine.

“My dad died. He lived in the country.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, but it’s okay.”

“When we were in Yellowstone, you told me you didn’t get along with him, but you never told me anything else. I remember we talked about your not wanting to discuss your past.”

“It was a messy past.” I had told him few details about my dad. He had gently asked more, and I had given him, deliberately, the impression that my dad and I were temporarily not getting along. I didn’t go anywhere near the depth of our estrangement.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Heart attack.” I waved my hand. “I still don’t want to talk about him.”

“Okay.” His eyes gentled, his hand warm on my leg. He went back to stitching me up. “You live in Portland, right?”

He knew I lived in Portland! Had he checked on me, as I had him? I had followed Jace’s career online. I had felt like a stalker, but I did it anyhow. “I did. I moved recently to the country. My dad left me his house and an apple orchard.”

“I remember you loved apples. You made apple pies.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Now and then, over the years, I’ve had apple pies, but they’re never as good as yours.”

“Really?” I was so pleased, I could feel myself blushing. “I still love apples, and now, I suppose, I have all the apples I need in that orchard.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

“It is. Sort of.” That orchard was bringing back all sorts of harsh memories I didn’t want to deal with.

“I’ll take one of your apple pies.”

I instantly envisioned me bringing him an apple pie, naked .

Stop it, Allie.

“I . . . uh . . . you want one of my apple pies?”

“Sure. Anytime. How about tomorrow?”

He smiled. So many times I had smiled back. Kissed those lips, held his face in my hands, pulled him down to me . . .

“I . . . uh . . . tomorrow? For a pie?”

“Sure. It’ll be Wednesday. Wednesday is always a good time for apple pie. As are Tuesday and Friday . . . Monday isn’t bad. I’ll even take one on Sunday.”

“You forgot Saturday.”

“I’ll have one then, too.”

My leg was being sewn right up, his hands competent and efficient, comforting. It was like watching a seamstress.

The seamstress was turning me on and rebreaking my heart.

He stopped sewing and looked at me—serious, contemplative, flirty—daring me. For a second his eyes dropped to my shirt. I knew it was gaping. I looked down. That red push-up bra was doing what I paid it to do to my boobs.

It was all still there between us. That instant, intense, electric connection. How ridiculous that sounds; how true it was.

In those dark eyes I saw everything that I was feeling. I felt that . . . magnetism . . . what a dumb word. Electricity. Sparks. More silly words to describe my feelings toward Jace, but there it was.

He remembered.

He remembered everything.

He hadn’t forgotten a thing.

Neither had I.

Not forgetting had been excruciatingly painful.