Mind of Her Own Read Free Page A

familiar surroundings, I believe her memory will return.”
    Collin. She considered the name. Irish, she thought. A romance hero’s name. Maybe she would use it in her next book. He certainly looked the part—strong chin and thick brown hair that begged for a path to be wound through it with willing fingers.
    “What if she doesn’t?” Collin asked.
    “Take her to your family doctor for a follow-up tomorrow. Wake her a couple times tonight and ask her questions. Make her answer with words; full sentences would be even better.” She heard the familiar rough scratch of pen on paper. “Give her acetaminophen or ibuprofen tonight.” He tore the paper from his pad and slapped it into Collin’s hand. “Fill this for pain if she needs it.”
    Home? Whose home? Jazz dropped the characterization of her newest hero. Home with Collin? She focused on those three words. That couldn’t be right—she loved adventure, but going home with a man she didn’t know went beyond what she would do for book material. She didn’t go anywhere without a folder full of notes, and she hadn’t spent any time researching living with this man. Panic ran like ice water down her neck.
    She struggled to prop herself up on an elbow and demand an explanation. The end of the bed wavered like a desert mirage, causing her to wonder if the head injury had affected her sight. She squinted, trying to sharpen her vision, but it didn’t help much.
    She needed to tell the doctor—maybe then he wouldn’t send her with this man. Jazz started to call out, but the white of the doctor’s coat blurred out of her sight before she could recall his name.
    Collin bent over her. She noticed that for a man who’d been working all day, he still smelled nice. “Well, honey, you heard him. Let’s get you back home.”
    “Water. Please.” She pointed to a sweating water bottle that beckoned just out of her reach. Collin put it in her hand but held on to it. For a moment she thought he planned to help her bring it to her lips like an invalid. Good thing he didn’t or he’d be wearing it, she wanted to say, but thirst won over talking.
    The liquid slid down her parched throat. Feeling better, she returned the bottle to him and then hit him with the big question. “Tell me who Louisa is and why you think I’m her!”
    * * *
    Collin sank down in the chair next to Louisa’s bed. She looked paler than his daughter’s collectible porcelain dolls. “You don’t remember us?”
    “Remember you? No. I’ve never met you. Wait, you weren’t at Jen’s party, were you?” Hope touched the edge of her voice.
    “Who’s Jen?” He rubbed his earlobe while he went through a quick list of Louisa’s friends.
    “My agent. Jen is my agent.”
    “Agent? For what?” He knew they hadn’t been communicating well, but when did she decide to sell their house? No, she’d said her agent, not ours .
    “I write inspirational romance novels.” She crumpled the edge of the bedsheet between her fingers.
    “Romance?” Collin felt like he had fallen into another dimension. Louisa had never written a word, much less a book or books. She had said novels , as in more than one. Hadn’t she? He assessed the situation. It had to be a grasp for attention. He had been working hard, and yes, he probably deserved this. He’d play along for a little bit. “Who do you think you are?”
    “Jazz Sweet. I live at . . . on an island or the coast. Florida, I think.” She rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers.
    “Louisa, you win, okay? I’m sorry—I really am—about what I said.” He squeezed his hand into a fist and then released it, a futile attempt at ridding himself of the tension in his body. “Let’s not play games here. It’s late, and it would be nice to go home, wouldn’t it?”
    “Games? What games are we playing?” She cocked her head at him, her eyebrow raised in question.
    The look she gave him wasn’t one he recognized. She truly looked lost and