Her Forgotten Husband (Harlequin Treasury 1990's)

by Anne Ha

  In desperation she circled outside his line of vision. She stopped at the table where last night’s jigsaw puzzle lay unfinished, slipping a few more pieces into place before moving on.

  Samantha took a closer look around the family room than she had the night before. She read the spines of books on a built-in shelf, and examined the objets d’art and family photos on a sideboard.

  It was as she did this that one of the photos caught her eye. Set farther back than the others, the dusty frame was partially obscured by a vase of white flowers.

  She reached for it, unsure why it had grabbed her attention. Her stomach tightened, and she wondered if the picture would trigger a memory.

  Feeling inexplicably nervous, she blew off the dust and stared at the photo. It showed a group of four, lined up in front of a gaily decorated Christmas tree. She and Jenny—both about seventeen—stood in the middle. Garrick had his arm around Jenny, his smile broad but looking a little forced. On the other side, Samantha clung to a dark-haired young man, her gaze fixed on his handsome face.

  She wore an attentive, interested expression, as if she expected him to turn and smile and say just the right words to make her laugh out loud. She looked as if she thought he was the most witty, fascinating person in the world.

  Samantha didn’t remember who he was, but he looked so much like Garrick he could have been his brother. She stared long and hard at the snapshot, knowing she should recognize the man. But she couldn’t summon even the vaguest sense of familiarity. He resembled Garrick so much, yet he didn’t spark any of the same feelings Garrick did. He left her feeling cold and unattracted, while the image of Garrick made her remember how it had felt to kiss him, to have his arms around her.

  Samantha’s anxiety grew. From her body language in the picture, she could tell she knew the man well. And he was obviously a member of the Randall family….

  She glanced up from the photo to find Jenny staring at her, eyes wide. Immediately Jenny wiped her features clear, but not before Samantha had seen the look of horror on her face. She wondered what could be so terrible about the picture.

  Her mind spun as she tried to come up with an explanation.

  Beth and Garrick fell silent, obviously picking up on the abrupt change of energy in the room. Samantha gulped as they turned their heads toward her, feeling oddly unnerved, as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

  She took an uncertain step forward, holding out the photo. “Who…who’s this?”

  Chapter Seven

  She’d found the picture of Warren.

  Garrick stared at the small wooden frame in Samantha’s hand. He recognized it only too well. In the early years he’d picked it up often enough. In order to torture himself. Or to keep from doing anything foolish, like revealing his feelings.

  His gut clenched. And now his forgetful wife had found the damned thing.

  Would it bring back her memory?

  Garrick searched her face, but saw only confusion as she waited for the answer to her question.

  Who’s this? she’d asked. And someone would have to tell her.

  He glanced at his mother and sister, who both watched in silence. “That,” he said quietly, “is Warren.”

  “Warren?”

  He clamped his mouth shut. A few sarcastic, inappropriate responses came to mind, but nothing he could say to Samantha. Nothing he would dream of saying aloud—let alone in female company.

  Beth, ever the graceful diplomat, picked up the slack. “Warren was my eldest son, Samantha. Jenny and Garrick’s brother.”

  “Oh.” She took a moment to assimilate the news, though he could tell it didn’t shock her. The family resemblance was difficult to miss. “You used the past tense….”

  His mother nodded. “Yes. He died in a boating accident.” To Garrick’s grim relief, she didn’t reveal just how recently that had occurred.

  “How awful.” Samantha seemed about to add more when Hugh appeared in the doorway to announce dinner.

  Jenny leapt to her feet. “Oh, good—I’m famished.” With one hand on Beth and the other on Hugh, she bustled them off down the hall.

  Garrick went over to Samantha, watching as she carefully replaced the photo on the sideboard.

  She still appeared dazed. “I should remember him,” she murmured.

  “Yes. And undoubtedly you will. Eventually.” He tried to keep his voice neutral, though he didn’t want her to remember Warren—not now, not when she finally seemed to feel something for him.

  “He died in a boating accident….”

  Reluctantly he nodded. “On vacation in Australia. He’d been drinking.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry, Garrick.” She touched his arm, her brown eyes wide with sympathy.

  Sympathy he didn’t need. Didn’t deserve. Of everyone in the family, he’d been the one to grieve the least. Hell, sometimes he was glad Warren had died. It had given him everything he’d ever wanted.

  Garrick felt a stab of guilt at the bitterness he couldn’t overcome. The burning resentment. Warren was dead, but he still hadn’t managed to forgive him.

  He met his wife’s gaze. “You’re very sweet, Sam. Thank you.” He tucked a strand of her long blond hair behind her ear. His thumb brushed her cheek. “We shouldn’t keep the others waiting.” He drew her close and gave her a reassuring squeeze, then guided her from the room.

  She paused in the hall and stared up at him. “I want my memory back, Garrick.”

  “I know you do.”

  “It’s just so disturbing.” She swallowed. “I knew your brother before he died, right? But I look at his picture and…nothing. It’s as if he never existed.”

  Oh, he’d existed, Garrick thought. He’d definitely existed.

  If he hadn’t, then Samantha—sweet, adorable Samantha—wouldn’t be carrying his child.

  During dinner, she thought about her discovery. Garrick and Jenny had had a brother. A brother no one wanted to discuss.

  Not once during the four-course meal did anyone refer to the photo she’d found. They kept up a steady stream of conversation, but Samantha sensed the underlying tension. The eldest Randall sibling was still on everyone’s minds.

  She felt bad for reviving their pain. Clearly they hadn’t completely gotten over Warren’s death.

  Washing her face at bedtime, she wondered how she had felt about it.

  Probably much the same. From everything she’d learned, she’d been like a member of the family for quite some time. She too must have felt as if she’d lost a brother.

  Samantha patted her face with a towel. She recalled her anxiety when she’d first seen the picture. For just a moment she’d had a twinge of guilt—as if she’d done something wrong.

  She frowned as her head began to hurt. Now what had that guilt been about?

  Well, she told herself, probably some part of her had known Warren was dead, despite her amnesia. She must have known she would stir up everyone’s grief by reminding them of him.

  Pressing a hand to her temple as the headache intensified, Samantha opened the medicine cabinet. She retrieved the painkillers Dr. Hernandez had sent home with her and downed a full dosage.

  The pounding made it impossible to think, and she crawled into bed a minute later, moving gingerly so as not to jar her head.

  Garrick watched her with concern in his expression. “You okay?” he asked her. “You look wiped out.”

  She lay back between the cool sheets. “My head started hurting again.”

  “Just where you bumped it, or all over?” His gaze scanned her face and head.

  “Pretty much all over. I took a painkiller.” She gave a halfhearted grimace.

  Garrick shifted closer. She felt him press a light kiss to her brow. “Anything I can do?”

  She shook her head, moving it only a fraction of an inch in either direction. “Actually, if you could turn out the lights…”

  He leaned across her to reach the lamp on her bedside tabl
e, and she breathed in the scent of his skin. Despite her automatic response to his nearness, she had no thought of continuing what they’d started in his office that day.

  Later would have to be some other time. Aside from the fact that she had a headache, she didn’t want to make love right after finding the photo—when thoughts of Warren might keep them from concentrating solely on each other.

  Garrick seemed to understand that. He turned off the other lamp, leaving the room in darkness. “Well, wake me up if you need anything.”

  “All right.”

  He tugged the sheets into place, and then his hand found hers beneath the covers. He laced their fingers together, palm against palm.

  They lay in silence. Every few minutes Garrick shifted on his side of the bed, just as he had the night before. Samantha couldn’t get comfortable, either, but confined her restlessness to tiny movements.

  Finally Garrick cleared his throat and asked, “How’s your headache?”

  “Better,” she answered. “The painkiller seems to be working.”

  Another minute passed. Then Garrick gave a ragged sigh, releasing her hand and rolling toward her. “Good. Turn onto your side.”

  “What?”

  One of his hands brushed her thigh, then settled on her hip. “Turn onto your side,” he repeated.

  “Why?” Her voice came out breathy.

  He sighed, sounding annoyed with himself. “Because I won’t be able to sleep unless I’m holding you.”

  At his gruff confession, her hesitance evaporated. Obeying the gentle pressure of his hand, she rolled so her back was to him.

  Garrick pulled her close, curling his body around hers, spoon fashion. The soft fabric of his pajama bottoms caressed her bare calves below the hem of her gown.

  He spread her hair above her on the pillow, kissed the exposed skin at the back of her neck and cupped a hand protectively around her abdomen. She felt a sensual awareness at having the length of his body pressed against hers, but also a drowsy warmth that pervaded her entire being. She fell asleep almost immediately.

  * * *

  Garrick slept better than he had in days. Months, really, if he wanted to be exact. Holding his wife all night long was like nothing he’d ever experienced.

  It seemed to help Samantha as well. In the morning she looked well rested and assured him her headache had dissipated. She felt energetic enough to visit a baby boutique his mother had mentioned the previous evening.

  They drove to the shop after breakfast. Located in an old Victorian house, the place carried a vast assortment of clothes, supplies and educational toys.

  Samantha grinned as they worked their way through the store, laughing every time he put an item in their shopping basket. For each one that she allowed to remain, she returned four or five to their displays.

  “Garrick,” she chastised him at one point. “These pajamas are sized for a two-year-old. Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun?”

  He shrugged as she replaced them on the rack. “She’s going to need them eventually.”

  Samantha shook her head. “Right. If I’d let you, you’d buy the whole store…. Hey, how do you know it’s a she?”

  “I don’t. I just thought a girl would look cuter in PJs with little blue cars on them. You know, to avoid sex-role stereotyping.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oookay. Look, if you really want to check out Pjs, we should go back to the newborn section.”

  “Oh, no. That’s all right. I’d rather look at those.” He pointed to a wall of miniature neon-framed sunglasses. “Wouldn’t Junior look hip in them?”

  “Just what I want,” she said, trailing after him. “A hipster baby.”

  She came to stand by his side. While he made a show of inspecting the styles—-just to tease her—she leaned against him and rested a hand at his waist.

  Catching sight of himself and Samantha in one of the shop’s mirrors, Garrick felt his heart quicken. They looked like such a…such a couple. Happy. As if they loved each other, loved being together.

  He felt her warmth against his side through the fabric of his shirt. The urge to turn her in his arms and kiss her almost overwhelmed him. If they hadn’t been in public, he would have.

  Samantha smiled up at him. “I can’t believe Beth bought your baby clothes here. That’s so cute.”

  “I think the merchandise has changed since then,” he said.

  “What, you don’t think they sold baby sunglasses thirty years ago?”

  “Don’t know—but my father would have had a fit if Mom had put anything neon on my little body. His tastes were more conservative.”

  She chuckled. “Tell me about your father. What was your relationship like?”

  Garrick hesitated.

  “Go on, you can tell me.”

  He took a deep breath. He’d hardly discussed the subject with her before her amnesia. Hardly discussed it with anyone, really. “I didn’t know Dad that well until I went to work for him.”

  “Why not?”

  “When we were little, he always left for the office before we woke up—and came home after we’d gone to sleep. As soon as I turned sixteen, though, I started working at the company each summer vacation—sorting mail, running errands, filing. Sometimes I’d go to lunch with Dad—it was more time than I’d ever spent with him.”

  Samantha absently tapped her chin. “Do you think that’s one reason you were so dedicated to your work?”

  “Sure. No doubt.”

  “And that’s why you rose to the top so fast.”

  Garrick shrugged. “It didn’t hurt to be the boss’s son, but yes. The more responsibility I had, the closer I got to my father.” He paused and met her gaze. “Sam, I plan to be there for you and the baby. You can count on me for that”.

  “I know I can.” She gave him a tender, appreciative look. “Garrick, you’re going to be such a wonderful parent.”

  He hoped so. Despite his feelings about Warren, he already loved the baby to distraction. Just as he loved its mother.

  They continued shopping, stopping at a tall display of stuffed animals. A teddy bear caught his eye, and he showed it to Samantha.

  “Jenny had one a lot like this,” he told her. “Of course, by the time she got through with it, it had only one button eye left and its nose was hanging by a thread. It’s probably still in the attic somewhere.”

  Samantha took the bear from him, squeezing it a few times to test its softness. She rubbed the fur against her cheek.

  “Like to buy it?”

  She nodded and dropped it into the basket, saying, “How did I become friends with Jenny?”

  He winked at her. “I don’t know if I should tell you that.”

  “Oh, come on.” She gave his arm a playful little punch. “What could it hurt? I promise it won’t plant a false memory.”

  Garrick let her wheedle him a bit longer, enjoying the lighthearted interaction, before he relented. “Oh, all right. You ran into each other at a soccer game. Literally. Head to head. You were trying to keep her from scoring the winning goal against your team, and you did so, effectively.”

  She gaped at him. “Not on purpose?”

  “No, you didn’t mean to hit her on the head that way, but you were both moving so fast it was unavoidable. At least, that’s how my mother told it. She said she heard the impact clear across the field.”

  “Oh, ouch!”

  “You and Jenny made friends on the sidelines, both holding ice packs to your heads. Jenny loves to tell the story.” He selected a few baby rattles and tossed them on top of the teddy bear.

  Without comment, Samantha returned two of them to their shelf. “So you weren’t there?”

  “No. I was back east at college.”

  “What about…Warren?”

  The question caught him off guard. They hadn’t mentioned Warren since she’d found the photo in the family room. He’d hoped to avoid discussing him indefinitely. “No,” he said at last. “He was away at school
, too.”

  By that time his brother had been kicked out of three colleges for partying too much and studying too little, and was only at the fourth by virtue of their father’s generous gifts to the annual fund.

  Samantha frowned. “Did I know him very well?” she asked softly.

  What could he say to that? The answer was more complex than yes or no, but he didn’t want to give away too much. “I don’t think any of us knew him well. He was hardly ever home.”

  “But he lived at the house with the rest of you?”

  Garrick shook his head. “Not really. Warren liked to travel. He spent most of his time at condos and resorts.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Didn’t that get expensive?”

  “Sure. But he had a trust fund, as well as a substantial interest in the company.”

  “Oh. Right…” She let a few seconds pass. “Did he die a long time ago?”

  Garrick stared down at her face. She’d asked the question gently, as if she thought it would hurt him. Ironically, Warren’s death had caused her ten times more pain that it had ever caused him. “No, but we’ve tried to put it behind us.”

  “Is that why there aren’t many pictures of him in the house? Why you never talk about him?”

  “Yes, in a way. There’s really not that much to say.”

  Something in his tone must have hinted at his feelings, because Samantha studied his face for a long moment before speaking. “You didn’t get along, did you?”

  He couldn’t bring himself to lie. “Maybe when we were very young. We were very different people, Sam. We tolerated each other, but there was no way we would have been close. We hardly ever saw eyeto-eye.”

  Which was putting it mildly. Warren had been a selfish bastard, manipulative and unscrupulous. Unworthy of Samantha’s love. Incapable of returning her affection, or of giving her the care she deserved.

  Garrick put the brakes on his unpleasant thoughts. To get angry about the past would do none of them any good. He should just be grateful things had worked out as they had. After all, he and Samantha were married now, and they had a baby to love and raise together.