Victoria paced the bedroom, wringing her hands as she watched Savannah tend to Mr. Cartwright's wounded head. Seeing the blood oozing down the side of his face made her stomach lurch. She couldn't believe she'd hit him that hard, and now she feared there was extensive damage.

Savannah hadn't been happy at all to help Victoria out, although she and Savannah carried the man inside the house to the bed in the guest bedroom, her friend grumbled the whole time. Even now as Savannah wrapped a bandage around the man's head, she threw glares at Victoria.

Inwardly, she groaned. She felt bad enough as it was. She didn't need her friend mad at her, too.

"How many times do I need to apologize?" Victoria asked, throwing up her hands in frustration. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Savannah gave a stern nod. "Obviously." She motioned to the unconscious man. "As I was cleaning his head, I saw that he had an old injury on the other side." She rolled her eyes. "Toria, if you have made this man lose his memory – or worse – I swear, I'm going to—"

"Oh, Savannah," Victoria sobbed and rushed to Mr. Cartwright's side. Thankfully, her friend had bandaged his head and cleaned away the blood. Victoria didn't do well with blood. "I didn't know he had another injury."

She knelt beside the bed and took hold of his hand. He had strong, calloused hands. That was a good sign of a hard worker. Closing her eyes, she said a silent prayer that God would heal him... and forgive her for being so violently obstinate. Victoria didn't know what she'd been thinking. She'd never struck a man before – even though she'd thought of doing that to her drunken father many times.

Tears gathered in her eyes as she stood. Savannah's scowl wasn't as piercing as before. "Oh, what have I done?" Victoria's voice broke. "All I wanted to do was make sure he'd be a good husband—"

"Yes, I know," Savannah quickly answered. "So let's pray that he awakens soon and all he has wrong with him is a terrible headache."

Nodding, Victoria wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I fear, he may not want to talk to me at all. And what if..." She inhaled an unsteady breath. "What if he wants to arrest me?"

"I'll say another prayer for you that he is a kind and very forgiving man." Savannah arched an eyebrow. "Because if this happened to me, you can be certain I would not forgive easily."

Victoria began her pacing as she rubbed her forehead. "My sister is going to kill me, I just know it."

Savannah pulled the blanket up to Mr. Cartwright's chest. They had left his clothes on, only removing his boots, coat, and hat. A fire blazed in the hearth, and Victoria hoped that would be warm enough for him.

"Yes, she might kill you," Savannah said, moving away from the injured man as she came toward Victoria, "but hopefully by the time she finds out, Mr. Cartwright will have forgiven you and all will be well."

Victoria laughed weakly. "You are always so positive. Thank you for trying to ease my worries."

Savannah stopped in front on Victoria and gave her a small smile. "I'm going to make us some lunch. I'm sure when Mr. Cartwright awakens, he'll be hungry."

"Yes, I'm sure he will." She took her friends hands and squeezed gently. She didn't know what she'd do without Savannah. The woman was gentle and loving, and Victoria thought she'd never seen a lovelier woman. Savannah's pretty brownish-blonde hair was something Victoria had always wanted. Mr. Kline should consider himself a lucky man to have Savannah for a wife... if he was home enough to do so, anyway.

As Savannah left the room, Victoria moved back to Mr. Cartwright's bed. The strapping man was just as handsome as when she'd first seen him, but unconscious, she could stare at him more. His eyelashes were thicker than most men she knew – then again, she hadn't really known many men. His nose was perfect, as was his square chin. If she'd been an artist, she would have loved to sketch him. But it was his wavy blond hair that made her want to touch to see if it was as silky as it looked.

Cautiously, she reached out her hand, knowing she shouldn't be doing this, yet she'd never been able to control her urges, especially when it came to a person's hair. Seeing how she grew up hating her red locks, she was fascinated by pretty hair.

When her fingers brushed over his wavy hair, she sucked in a quick breath. It was much softer than she'd expected. She was certain it was softer than the stubble on his unshaven face... or was it?

Curiosity got the better of her – again – and she dropped her hand to his face, sweeping her fingers across his cheek and chin. Yes, his facial hair definitely wasn't as soft. But for some odd reason, she couldn't remove her hand. He really was a very handsome man.

Mr. Cartwright released a groan as he turned his face. His mouth touched her palm, and shock vibrated through her. She yanked her hand away, surprised at the odd sensations rushing through her, but she also wondered if he was waking up.

Should she go get Savannah? After all, the woman knew more about injured people than Victoria did. Before Savannah married, she volunteered at the hospital. Of course, her father was a doctor, but at least the daughter received some very excellent training.

Mr. Cartwright groaned again, and this time, his eyes fluttered open. Holding her breath, she prepared herself for the worst, but prayed for the best.

He finally opened his eyes, only to squint and turn away from the window. She rushed to the window to pull the drapes. The light from the fire would be sufficient for now.

"Is that better?" she asked.

"Yes."

His voice was hoarse. She should offer him tea, but she wasn't sure if Savannah had anything made just yet. "How are you feeling?" She stepped closer to his bed.

Mr. Cartwright's hand moved to his bandage. "Why does my head hurt so much?"

"Yes, well..." She wrung her hands. "You were knocked in the head, and—"

"I was knocked in the head?" His voice lifted slightly as his attention moved to her.

"Yes, you see—"

"Who are you?"

"Mr. Cartwright, I'm the woman who was going to take you into town."

He scrunched his forehead. "I've never seen you before in my life."

She sucked in a quick breath. Oh dear...

"And why did you call me Mr. Cartwright?" he continued.

Inwardly, she groaned. "Because that is your name. Don't... you remember?"

As he stared at her, he blinked a couple of times until suddenly, his eyes widened and his expression grew panicked. "No, I don't." He held his head with both hands now. "I don't remember my name."

* * * *

Alan's head was pounding something fierce, which was the only reason he wasn't laughing over the redhead's reaction. Although he hadn't opened his eyes while the other lady bandaged his head, he'd heard every word they said. He remembered Miss Lange, and he also recalled when she slammed the piece of wood up side his head. Now, he just needed to know why.

Something she'd said earlier while talking to her friend made him confused. Why had Miss Lange wanted to know if he'd make a good husband? He'd already gotten a mail-order bride who'd he'd meet in a couple of weeks. So, what made Miss Lange think he wanted her as his wife?

Of course, when he'd first seen her in the wagon when she'd stopped to help, he couldn't stop staring at her pretty face and her glorious mane of red hair. He'd always been attracted to redheads. And this particular redhead had him most curious to find out what her story was – which of course, was why he had decided to pretend he couldn't remember anything.

He'd make her pay for knocking him out and giving him another head wound. The one he had from a week ago was still healing. Why did people think his head was made for hitting?

"Oh, Mr. Cartwright, you must calm down." She touched his arm before pulling her hand away. "I'll fetch the doctor immediately."

"Isn't the doctor already here? Who bandaged my head?"

"No, a doctor doesn't live here, but his daughter does. She is the one who bandaged your head."

He moaned again, louder this time. "I hurt all over." He dropped his hands. "And... I'm hungry."

"Savannah – uh, I mean Mrs. Kline, is in the kitchen right now preparing something for you to eat."

"What is your name?"

Miss Lange paused and her face lost a little more color. Alan wasn't sure why she would hesitate. "Victoria... Lange."

A pretty name for a pretty woman. He silently scolded himself. Why was he thinking that way of the woman who knocked him senseless? He sure hoped he didn't need stitches, because he was sure the gash in his head was deep. All because she was looking for a husband. Good grief, had she been raised by a caveman?

He reached out his hand and touched her arm. "Miss Lange, could you get me something to eat, please?"

She nodded vigorously and her hair bounced around her shoulders. "Of course. I'll help you with anything you need."

He bit his cheek, trying not to grin. This little fib he was telling about his memory loss might get interesting after all. At least while he's healing, of course.