Tara looked at the sleeping baby as if it were an alien invader, making no move to touch it. "Excuse me? You must have the wrong room."

The nurse and Debra exchanged worried looks. "Dearheart," the nurse said, "this is definitely your baby. At least, he was with you when you were found."

Tara looked to Kevin for help. "Tell them, Kevin. Tell them there's been a mistake."

Kevin was as shocked as Tara. He'd known the mystery woman had been found with a baby, but he'd forgotten about that once he'd realized the woman was Tara. The child appeared to be about three months old, which left Kevin with an inescapable conclusion: He was a father. Tara had borne him a child, though she hadn't seen fit to tell him about it.

Tara felt like she was in the middle of some weird dream. She could make out every eyelash of the strange child the social worker had put in her lap; she could smell the antibiotic ointment the nurse had just applied to the scrape on her arm. But as hard as she tried, she couldn't remember how she had gotten to this hospital room in Hardyville, Colorado, a bazillion miles from her home in Chicago – and not a place she would go unless a team of mules were dragging her.

They told her she'd been mugged. Someone had hit her over the head in a parking lot and stolen her purse, and probably her car, too.

The baby stirred and started to fret. Instinctively Tara's arms went around him, and she realized with a bolt of clarity that yes, indeed, this was her child. Though she couldn't remember, this felt right. A recent pregnancy would explain why her body felt softer, not the reed-thin figure she remembered, and why she'd changed her hairstyle to something short and no-fuss.