The dark-haired woman gazed down at him.
"Kyle,” she said. "I've been so worried."
He lifted his head and looked around. He wasn't in his bedroom, but in a large canvas tent.
"Where am I?"
"Shh." She placed a finger on his lips. The scent of lavender invaded his senses.
He frowned when he realized he was lying on a cot wearing his reenactor clothing. Had he dreamed he'd come home?
"The doctor says you'll be fine. He dug out the bullet and stitched up your leg."
"My leg?" Kyle reached down. His pant’s leg had been cut apart at the seam. Heavy bandages wrapped around his thigh.
"This doesn't make any sense. I twisted my ankle. It's fine now."
She took his hand and stroked his forehead. Her touch sent warmth and desire through his body.
"I have to know..." He swallowed. "...your name."
She smiled. "You haven't forgotten me already?"
"I...you never told me."
"Of course I did."
She leaned away.
He held tightly to her hand, fearing she'd leave again.
"Don't go." Her hand dissolved. He couldn't hold her.
He woke in a sweat. The alarm blared. Six-thirty. He had to get ready for school.
As he hurriedly washed up and dressed, he tried to recall the dream about the woman from the reenactment, but only fleeting images remained.
As he waited for his coffee to brew, he racked his brain trying to remember, but it was gone. And so was she.
Northern Roses and Southern Belles available at The Wild Rose Press http://thewildrosepress.com/northern-roses-and-southern-belles-p-3578.html



