Why am I standing over this gurney anyway? She could barely make out his facial features. Maybe it was because her vision was slightly blurred. Maybe it was due to the crushing headache that seemed to have a vice-like grip on her head. Or maybe it was because the man looked so still and gray, and all the blood hadn’t been cleaned from the cuts on his face. Tosh felt a deep concern for him but she couldn’t say why. He was a stranger to her. Or was he? Was it just a simple reason like compassion for another human that had her standing there? It felt like more than that. Why couldn’t she remember why she was there? Who was he? And what was he to her?
Am I losing my mind? For some reason Tosh felt like she’d run a marathon and only just now was coming to the end—but she couldn’t see the finishing line. Or is this a dream? She pinched herself hard to see if she was awake. The pain made her believe she was. “So who the hell are you?” She searched the face of the man on the gurney as she spoke. A vision of storm-gray eyes came to her mind. His eyes were closed. So why gray and why would I think that color to be the same shade as a storm?
Tosh moved in closer to look at him. Even though her vision was scratchy, she noticed the fine laugh lines around his eyes and the classic planes of his cheekbones.
A handsome man who laughs, she mused Good deductive reasoning, Tosh. That tells me absolutely nothing. She searched her mind for clues to her connection to him. There was something that drew them together. Tosh was sure of it. Was it the wavy wheat-blonde hair or the shape of his lips that made her stare at him as if she was trying to work out a puzzle? There was something between them. But what?
Tosh tentatively ran her fingers over his brow, taking in the old roughly-healed scar over his left eyebrow. She would have been reluctant to touch a conscious man in such a way. She wasn’t a tactile person by nature. But his stillness and the fact she needed to unlock answers that were pushing to escape her mind, made her bold. The crusted blood on his face and the darkening bruise on his jaw bespoke pain. Whatever had happened to him would have hurt. Had he been in a car accident? Had he been mugged? Even lying down, this man didn’t look like someone who couldn’t defend himself. His clothes, though torn in places, were casual but they didn’t hide the strength of the body beneath. Her gaze moved to his hands. Large, capable hands with knuckles bloodied by whatever had happened to him. Tosh slipped her hand in his and felt strangely comforted by the warmth she found.
So what happened to you, gorgeous man and more importantly why do I care? Was she just being a caring stranger-passer-by or did she know this man? Her heart said “Yes.” Her mind said “Stop and think.” She massaged the hand within hers unconsciously.
“Tosh,” a warm, male voice called from behind her.
Mackintosh McRae turn around. “Yes?” She felt foolishly relieved she could at least remember her own name. Tosh looked at the other man, who came to stand on the opposite side of the gurney. He was dressed completely in black. Yet there was lightness about the man that seemed to belie the blackness of his hair and clothes. That can’t be right. He’s never lighthearted. She gasped. Why do I know that yet I don’t know who this dark man is? She watched as he looked down at the man with concern.
“He’ll be okay,” The dark man’s dark eyes were full of knowledge. “He’s been through worse.”
“Yes.” Tosh wondered how she knew that, but somehow she just did.