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was sweating at the moment, his temperature was probably way over par. He had only to think of how helpless he was, and his heart started pounding. The symptoms might be physical, but he knew it was mostly due to nerves.
    "How are we feeling?" the nurse asked cheerfully, treating him to a gap-toothed smile. Haynes, he thought, frowning. Her name was Nurse Haynes. She'd been on duty last night when he was admitted. Only then he'd barely acknowledged she was there.
    "I don't know about you, but I'm feeling terrific," he said, the cynicism in his tone barely disguised. He forced a grin to his dry lips to mitigate his sarcasm. "Say, who was that woman who visited earlier today? I did have a visitor, didn't I? She wasn't just a vision brought on by all those drugs you've been pumping into me?"
    Nurse Haynes looked at him over the rim of the clipboard. She had nice eyes, thought Nathan objectively, though not as nice as some others he recalled. Nevertheless, she was his best hope for enlightenment. He didn't think old man Harper would be making any ward calls tonight.
    The nurse lowered the clipboard to rest against her ample bosom. "She didn't tell you?" she inquired, and his impatience flared anew. Why was it that everyone seemed to think it was necessary to respond to his questions with other questions? Did they think he'd be asking if he knew?
    "No," he replied at last, tersely, seeing no virtue in admitting some half truth. "So who was she? I have a right to know, don't I? Or is this some guessing game I have to play?"
    The nurse's blonde brows elevated to somewhere near her hairline, and he realised he might have gone too far. He was in no state to make demands on anyone. Least of all some innocent nurse, who was only doing her job.
    But Nurse Haynes was evidently disposed to be generous. "Why, Mr Wolfe," she said, in what he knew instinctively was a Southern accent, "that—woman—as you describe her, is your wife."
    His stomach clenched. "My wife?"
    "That's right." The nurse smiled. "A Mrs Caitlin Wolfe, from London. England, of course. What did you say to her? I hear she was quite upset when she left."
    He couldn't believe it. My God, if she'd been his wife, he'd have recognised her, wouldn't he? She'd been so close; she'd helped him to a drink of water, for Christ's sake. He'd have identified something about her, even if it was only her perfume.
    "I guess it's come as quite a shock to y'all?" the nurse ventured, suddenly anxious. Was she afraid she'd get into trouble for letting the cat out of the bag? But, dammit, if the woman was his wife, he deserved to know about it. If only so that when she came back he'd have something to say.
    And then, as the rest of what she'd said struck him, he stared up at her. "She's left?" he exclaimed, gulping for air. "Dammit, where's she gone?"
    "Why, to check in to a hotel, I imagine," responded Nurse Haynes soothingly. She hooked the clipboard back onto the rail and came to take his pulse. "I guess she'll come back tomorrow. Particularly as she's come such a long way."
    "Pigs might fly," he muttered, resenting her suddenly for disrupting his pensive mood. How the hell was he supposed to relax when he supposedly had a wife he didn't recognise? And why hadn't she identified herself to him?
    "She'll be here," declared Nurse Haynes confidently. She released his wrist and slipped her watch back into her breast pocket. "There now, you've got something to look forward to. Not everyone's so lucky, believe me."
    His jaw clamped. He knew that was true. The aftermath of the accident was still horrifyingly fresh in his mind. After all, he was alive, and apart from his loss of memory, apparently not seriously injured. If he could only be patient, he had every chance of making a full recovery.
    So why was he feeling so apprehensive? Why did the memory of his—
wife—
stick painfully in his gut? He had no reason to doubt she cared about him, yet he'd sensed a certain ambivalence in her gaze.

    He