Chance McCall by Sharon Sala Page B

intense blue eyes, and the generous curve of her lower lip. A heart-shaped face of rare beauty, a womanly body. Each feature was so familiar, yet for the life of him he couldn’t remember her name.
    Awareness began pooling in the pit of his stomach, and crawled ominously toward a heart thumping with panicked irregularity. His breathing quickened. A film of moisture beaded across his forehead and upper lip. He stared down at their locked fingers and dropped her hand as if he’d just been burned. The panic inside him threatened to overflow.
    Jenny sensed his increased agitation. She stepped back in shock. What was the fear she was seeing on his face? He turned his head away from her and closed his eyes. Her heart sank.
    She forgot to be calm. She forgot to be quiet. “What? What is it?” He was blaming her for the accident! He was going to hate her forever!
    He turned and stared. Blankly…horrified.
    And then nurses were at the bedside. “What’s happened? What did you say? What have you done?” Their accusing stares weakened her knees.
    “I don’t know,” she whispered, and wrapped her arms around herself in panic. “All of a sudden he just withdrew…like he’d never seen me before. I don’t know why…” Her heart stopped. She looked into the face of his fear. And then she knew. His thoughts came through as clearly as if he’d just spoken aloud.
    Jenny took a deep breath, reached down and took his hand. He flinched but allowed the touch.
    “Do you know where you are?” she asked.
    He hesitated. Admitting his fears aloud was as frightening as knowing that they were there. He finally answered.
    “No.”
    “Do you know who I am?” Jenny asked. That he hesitated sent her hopes plummeting.
    “No,” he muttered, and slipped his fingers out of her hand.
    “Dear God,” she said, and sank down onto the chair by his bed. She shuddered, trying desperately to hide her fear and dismay from him, aware that even in his confusion he was looking to her for strength. Unaware of the doctor’s arrival behind her, she continued, taking a deep breath as blue eyes locked with brown, each reading the panic on the other’s face.
    “Do you know who you are?” Jenny whispered. Her heart broke as he shuddered, letting out one long sigh as he answered.
    “No.”
    “It’s okay,” she said, and wiped the beads of sweaty panic away from his forehead. “I do.”
    He closed his eyes, briefly relishing her cool, familiar touch on his forehead in a world where there were suddenly no constants.
    “My name is Jenny Tyler. And you, Chance McCall, are the man who saved my life.”
    Jenny watched in despair as a single tear slipped from the corner of his eye and ran beside a new bruise and an old scar. I’m afraid it’s going to take a lot more than bandaids to fix this hurt, my love , she thought.
    Dr. Walker slipped his hand on her shoulder and patted her as he spoke. “This is not uncommon you know. Now Jenny, once again, I’d like for you to wait outside while I examine this fellow.”
    She nodded, resisted the urge to lean down and press a kiss against the bitter twist at the corner of Chance’s mouth, and walked away.
    The glass door of the ICU closed behind her. She staggered down the hallway, leaning weakly against the wall as she fought back rage at the unjustness of this new development. But, just as suddenly as she felt despair, she found relief.
    “Well! I just wasn’t as specific as I should have been with my prayers,” she muttered to herself as she dug around in her purse for change. “I asked God to let him live. And he did.” She headed down the hall toward a pay phone.

    He heard her footsteps as she came out of the elevator and began the long walk down the tiled hallway toward his room. Over the past few weeks, her walk had become as distinctive to him as her voice, her scent, and her touch. His heart skipped a beat and a familiar panic welled before he turned to face the mirror over the sink. He leaned