Jackson Thomas was tired and very depressed. He spent the day in Colorado Springs, doing his monthly shopping and visiting his wife at the cemetery. She had died the previous summer of a brain tumor. He had moved her to their weekend cabin in this quiet out of the way place to take care of her in her final days and because it suited his mood. He wanted to be alone ... alone with his memories of her. He was a doctor by profession, but being unable to save his wife had driven him away from his calling and to this life alone. He had spent the last 2 years taking care of her, and had been heartbroken upon her death. He withdrew to his own little world, leaving all his friends and colleagues behind. He lived in a world where she was still there. He talked to her as if she had never left. He knew that he needed help. He had kept their weekend home, the one he was now living in, just as it had been before she got sick. He couldn't bear to make any changes. He knew he was walking a fine line between sanity and madness, but didn't have the energy to do anything about it. They say life goes on, but for him, this was just an existence-just biding time until he could be with her again. His life had been over the day his wife died.

He turned off the highway onto the dirt road leading to his cabin. His thoughts had been on Karen, not noticing the weather had taken a turn for the worse. He bumped along the dirt road in his pickup, not noticing the golden aspen, until the fat snowflakes began to fall. He couldn't help thinking of his beautiful golden haired wife. Fall had always been her favorite season and she loved the first snow. He mourned the life they had shared that had been so brutally taken away.

He rounded a curve only to slam on his brakes to avoid something in the road. At first he was unsure as to what it was, but then sorted out that it was a motorcycle. He had no interest in knowing why a bike was in the road. He had little interest in anything. He just assumed teenagers had stolen it and left it there. He got out of his truck to push it off to the side. Climbing back in his truck, he put it in gear and started off.

Something niggled at the back of his mind. He drove on for a moment before stopping the truck. Something wasn't right. He got out of his truck, not minding the falling snow and walked back to where he had left the bike. Looking it over he saw that it wasn't an ordinary bike, but a classic Indian. When he was younger he had been interested in motorcycles and part of that knowledge surfaced. He looked around but didn't see anyone in sight. He shrugged his shoulder as he started back to his truck, but something made him look down the hillside.

There, lying covered in snow, he saw a figure. At first he turned away, not wanting to get involved, but his medical training and curiosity took over. He carefully worked his way down the hill to where the shape was lying. He gently turned the figure over. Noticing the eyes remaining closed through the visor, he decided against removing the helmet... "at least keep that body heat in," he thought. He noticed the leg bent at an unnatural angle and his clinical mind diagnosed it to be broken. "Hypothermia," he also diagnosed. He felt for a pulse and found it to be faint and thready. "Must get him out of the cold and into dry clothes. Must get him to the cabin".

He worried about how he would get the injured man back up the hill. The guy didn't look to be very large, so maybe he could carry him. He was in good condition, what with chopping his own wood and taking care of everything on his own. He attempted to lift the body and was surprised to find he could do it easily. He carefully made his way up the hillside and opened the passenger side door, placing the injured man on the seat. He ran around to the driver's side and climbed in, turning the heat to max as he did. Putting the truck in gear he drove as quickly has he could in the gathering snow to his cabin.

He pulled up in front of the door and hurried around to get the injured man inside and dry. Kicking the front door closed with his foot, he carried his burden through into the master bedroom and placed it on the bed, making sure not to jar the injured leg. He gently began to remove the rider helmet and was met with a surprise. His jaw dropped open and he gasped aloud. His guest was female, and very beautiful.

She looked very much like his Karen had before she became ill. His hands stopped as he stared at her, feeling a sense of déjà vu. Shaking himself, he knew he had to get her out of the wet clothes if she was going to make it. Steeling himself, he carefully removed he clothing and covered her with heavy blankets. He knew he had to get her warmed up as her pulse had gotten slower since he found her. He worked with her, slowly piling more blankets on, and monitoring her temp until he felt like she would pull through. He then set about to determine why she was still unconscious. Feeling around her head, he encountered a large lump. Thank God for helmets, he thought. If she could get that kind of bump with a helmet, she would be dead now without it.

He moved on to other injuries. Her ribs were badly bruised and he carefully palpitated the area. "Probably cracked," he thought. "I'll keep an eye on that." He cautiously straightened her leg. It seemed a clean break, so he carefully set and splinted it. "We'll take care of casting that later," he said to himself.

Suddenly, realizing how exhausted, both physically and emotionally he was, he pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down to watch her, the same chair he had spent so many nights in during Karen's last days. He couldn't believe that fate had brought this woman to him.

"What am I going to do with you?" he mumbled, his last thoughts before slumber engulfed him.