by Ginny Baird
He eyed her with understanding. “Par for the course, dear. The memories should all come back, but won’t necessarily surface in the expected order.
“The good news is that you’re perfectly healthy, other than the amnesia. The scans were clear and all your tests came back negative. The best I can suggest for the short term is that you engage in things that might spur your memory.”
“Such as?” William asked.
Dr. Mass turned toward Bridget. “When you arrived at the Kinkaid house, did you have anything with you? Anything at all?”
****
Chapter Five
Lucy perched on the edge of the bed in the master bedroom. William shut the door and came and sat beside her, a stack of presents in hand.
“You’re right about doing this away from the kids,” he said.
Lucy had insisted on utmost privacy for the rest of the gifts’ unveiling. Judging by the item in the package that Justin had opened, she couldn’t imagine what might be in these other boxes. Hopefully, nothing too scandalous for her Koochie. Boy, that just seemed wrong. Who on earth calls somebody that?
“Ready?” William asked, passing her box number one. She felt her face warm and he reddened in return.
“Maybe I should... um... Open them alone?”
“I was a married man once, you know.”
“Sure,” she said, smiling tightly and feeling as if her cheeks might burst from the pressure.
“This one looks interesting,” he said, peering at the tag. “My love will set you free. I wonder what that means?”
Lucy shrugged and peeled back the wrapping with trepidation. It was as if, with each layer of red and green foil, she was stripping away herself. Oh my God, she thought, staring into the box. Perhaps she was a stripper, after all!
William chuckled and raised a pair of fur-lined handcuffs from the unfolded tissue paper. “Well, well.” He studied her in a new way that told her maybe he was reconsidering her profession, too. “Any flashbacks?” he asked with a wry twist to his lips.
“Not a one!” she declared a little too loudly. All at once it felt terribly hot in here. Was that because she was used to going without clothes? Lucy cringed, thinking that forgetting might have its merits.
He handed her another box. “Try again?” he said, both looking and sounding mildly amused.
She peeked at the tag and then stood abruptly. “Oh no, I don’t...” There was no way on earth! “I think I’d better open this one in the bathroom!” She grabbed the box and scurried out of William’s sight, barricading herself behind the door. Seconds later she flung open the package and wailed, “What kind of woman am I?”
William sat up with a start on the bed. Perhaps there was more to Bridget than he’d imagined. She certainly seemed to have a secret side. Not that he minded, or that it was really any of his business. He was only interested in helping learn who she was, sparking her memory, that’s all.
Bridget burst back through the bathroom door, hastily gathering the rest of the packages in her arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Hiding these away somewhere where the children won’t find them!”
“That bad?” he asked, wide-eyed.
“Oh, much worse,” she assured him, without surrendering any details. “Do you have something like duct tape?”
William appeared taken aback. “Duct tape? Is that something else you like to—?”
She turned bright red. “Oh God, no. It’s nothing like that! I just want to close these securely. We can’t take any chances.”
He handed her the fur-lined handcuffs, which she flung back in the box like they carried something communicable. “Hmm, yes. I see what you mean.”
She stared at him, mortified. “Wait a minute. You don’t actually believe those are mine?”
“No,” he said, ribbing. “I know they’re for Koochie.”
She heaved a sigh, big blue eyes brimming with tears. “This is so very awful. I don’t see how this has helped one bit.”
“Listen,” he said standing and taking the packages from her. “There could be dozens of reasons why you had those presents with you.”
“Really?” she asked, looking hopeful.
“Why, sure,” he said, unable to think of any.
“So you’re not judging me?”
“Judging? Sweetheart, I don’t know you well enough to judge you.”
“But if you did, would you?”
She tilted up her chin and William realized in a flash that she was within kissing distance. It wasn’t like he’d done it in a long time, but he clearly recalled the instinct. He guessed it was like riding a bicycle, only softer... more curvy... and feminine. Heat warmed the back of his neck. “Would I?” he asked, lost in the moment.
“Judge me,” she repeated, dark eyelashes fanning wide.
William drew a breath and counted to ten, telling himself not to lose his head. Here he was with a beautiful woman beside a large comfy bed on a wintery afternoon. And my children are right downstairs, he reminded himself, swallowing hard. With my mother and father! “No, absolutely not. Never.” He took a giant step back, drawing the gifts in toward his chest. “I mean, never in a bad way. Listen, Bridget, I’m a very fair-minded individual. Whatever other people choose to do in their personal lives is their business, not mine. I mean, as long as everyone’s a grown-up and agrees.”
“Yes, that’s what I think too,” she said, taking a step back of her own.
“I think you’re right, and we’d better find a place to stash these.”
“Good,” she said with a nod.
Downstairs on the living room sofa, Carmella snuggled between her grandparents as her Grammy read her a storybook. Her Poppy sat on her other side, reading the sports section of the newspaper.
Emma turned the page and Carmella looked up with a pout. “Why did they go upstairs?”
“They needed some privacy, dear,” Emma said.
“For what?”
Grant chuckled. “Likely discussing North Pole secrets.”
“But I want to hear how Santa got her down the chimney!”
Grant glanced at Emma. “I’d be interested in hearing that myself.”
“Shush,” she told him.
Carmella stared at Emma with big, brown eyes. “Bridget’s not sick, is she Grammy?”
“Oh no, dear.”
“Dr. Mass says she’s healthy as a horse,” Grant said. Then he added under his breath, “Not even pregnant.”
Emma glared at him, but Carmella just said, “Darn!”
Her grandparents exchanged glances, then looked at her.
“I was hoping for twins,” the child explained.
William entered Justin’s room to find him working at his computer. Justin glanced in his dad’s direction, then closed a series of pop-up boxes.
“Justin, I’m going to need your help with something.”
“Sure thing, Dad,” Justin said, still furiously clicking the mouse. “Name it.”
William scrutinized his son a beat, and then met the boy’s gaze. “Do you know how to build a Web page?”
“Piece of cake.”
“Good, because I was thinking we could put up one of those Internet postings.”
“An advertisement?”
“Well, no. Yes. Something like that. What’s the name of that local site where you can get anything and everything?”
“Dave’s List?”
William nodded soundly. “That’s the one. Do you think they’ve got a section for Lost and Found?”
Justin smiled securely. “No worries, Dad. You can leave everything to me.”
William sighed with relief. “That’s my boy. Now,” he asked, “What do you need?”
“We probably need a picture. We can use your digital camera.”
“Great thought. I’ll go and get it,” he said, turning away. “Bridget, too.”
“Uh, Dad?” Justin called after him. “I was just thinking... Maybe it would help i
f Bridget modeled some of that stuff she brought with her? You know, make her more recognizable?”
William shot him a stern look and shook his head. “Don’t think so, Justin.”
A big-busted woman strode into Mitch’s real estate office with a combative air. She slapped her purse on his desk and Mitch looked up at the bleached blonde in a leopard print coat smacking her gum. She removed her dark glasses to glare at him. “What’s the big idea?”
“Bridget!” he said with surprise. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes. So, you decide on that six mil mansion?”
“No, you slimy cheat. What’s your excuse this time? Still haven’t gotten over the fact that I dumped you for Roger?”
He blinked at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My packages!” she cried with dismay. “You promised you’d bring them by.”
“I did! I mean, I sent... Wait a minute. Are you saying you never got them?”
She pulled herself upright on her petite frame and studied her manicured nails. “I knew you didn’t have it in you to be a gentleman, despite all that stuff you said.” She lifted cat-green eyes to his. “You’re still getting back at me, ain’t ya?”
“No, Bridget! I swear! I’d never—”
She licked her lips and he squirmed in his chair. “Though you’re still pretty good to look at, Mitch-o. Despite your conniving.”
She leaned forward, her coat gaping to reveal the low-cut blouse beneath it.
Mitch gulped. “And you’re still looking good, too. How’s Roger?” he asked with a squeak.
“Getting bored with marriage, I think.” She inserted herself between Mitch and his desk, then purred in a sexy whisper, “I always thought you worked too hard.”
“Ditto, sweetheart,” he said with a hard stare.
She flinched. “Ooh, was that a cut?”
Mitch rolled his chair back a foot and spoke matter-of-factly. “Listen, Bridget, I’ve got stuff to do. I’ll find out about those packages ASAP. Okay?”
“Yeah, well, you’d better. I spent over three hundred smackers at The Naughty Shop!”
His cell rang and he reached around her to snag it off the desk. “Magic Maker Mitch at your service!”
Bridget rolled her eyes and sauntered toward the door. “Magic Maker, hoo. You’d think that new gal of yours could find someone better.”
****
Chapter Six
As William bent down to lift his morning paper off the stoop, he heard a mounting commotion. His raised his eyes in disbelief to the pandemonium around him. Their quiet residential street was flooded with vehicles and hordes of men were pouring into his yard. There were jocks dressed in sports uniforms, Wall Street types in suits, military men, construction workers, guys in tuxedos carting flowers. Holy cow! William’s jaw dropped as he stared up at the noisy helicopter hovering above and some lunatic parachuted in for a landing. A knight on a white horse galloped in through the front gate, trailed by a rowdy group, a few of them on motorcycles. The mass stormed toward the house, calling out to him in competing voices, “She’s mine! She’s mine!”
William raced inside, sweat beading his brow. He quickly bolted the door, seconds before its chime sounded. Ding-dong... ding-dong... ding-dong! The landline rang next, trilling loudly on the hall table. William lunged for it, picking it up. “Bridget? No, she’s still sleep—What? What?” He held out the receiver in shock, then pressed it back to his ear. “Well, I don’t know whether she’ll give an interview.”
A pounding sounded outside the door. “Mr. Kinkaid! This is WKVX News! Can we get a statement?”
William hung up the phone and strode toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. An instant later, he burst into Justin’s room, popping the boy on the head with his up newspaper. “Justin William Kinkaid,” he said. “I want to see that Web page you built, and I mean now.”
William gaped at the computer screen. It was Bridget all right, only better. She was very scantily dressed in some sort of sexy elf outfit, jingle bells dangling from strategic places. William frowned and stared down his son as the boy flushed red.
“Sexy Cyber Mom Seeks Home? Justin! Just what kind of junk have you been reading?”
“The personals?”
“But, son! You gave our home address! A MapFinders link, even!”
“You told me to list contact information.”
“I meant an e-mail address, telephone number, maybe. Not this!” He shook his head and stared again at the computer screen. “We don’t even know if she’s got kids, for heaven sakes.”
“She’s the right age, isn’t she?”
William blew a hard breath, his eyes glued on Bridget’s photo. “How did you do that? You know she wasn’t wearing that when I took the picture.”
“Computer program. Really simple.” Justin gulped. “Even allows enhancements.”
“So I see.” William ran a hand through his hair, wondering how he was going to get out of this mess.
“I thought the jingle bell tassels were a nice touch,” Justin said with an impish grin.
Carmella pressed into Lucy’s room with a worried frown. “What’s all that noise?”
Lucy quickly released the curtain she’d pulled back to peer outside. “I’m not sure.”
“Then what were you looking at?”
“Just some birds out on the lawn!” she said above the hum of copter blades lifting away.
“Birds? But all of those have flown south for the winter.”
Carmella strode to the window with determination and threw back the curtain. “Oh my! Who are all those people?”
“I don’t know,” Lucy said, standing behind her. There was an incredible crowd out there, and it appeared testosterone heavy. In fact, the only woman Lucy saw seemed to be a television reporter. She held a huge microphone and spoke through a broad smile to a couple of cameramen by a truck.
Carmella spun toward Lucy, gripping her legs. “You don’t think they heard about Santa, do you? And they’re coming to take you away? Sort of like they do with aliens?”
Lucy bent low to hug her. “Oh no, sweetie. Don’t you worry one bit. Nobody’s taking me anywhere. I’m sure those fellows are all just here for a visit.”
Carmella looked her in the eye. “It’s awful early for visiting. We haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
Lucy studied the little girl, the truth paining her. Sooner or later, Carmella was going to have to know. From the looks of the horde outside, sooner was going to come first. “Carmella,” she said, “About Santa... There’s something I think you should know. I don’t really believe—”
“Of course Santa brought you!” the child said, throwing her arms around Lucy’s neck. “Even Daddy said so!”
Carmella hung her head, then looked up with misting eyes. “You know, when Mommy died, I was very little. Just two. So I barely remember her at all. But, I do remember one thing. She used to sing to me.”
“I’m sure it sounded beautiful,” Lucy said kindly.
Carmella gulped, wiping away her tears. “So when... you know... I asked Santa for a new mommy, I was kind of hoping that...” She stopped and met Lucy’s gaze. “That you would...” Her voice trailed off, her little chin trembling.
Lucy sat on the bed and pulled Carmella into her lap. “Shh... Shh, now. Everything will be all right. I’m sure soon enough Santa will send just the right mommy for you.”
“He already has.” Carmella looked up with pleading eyes. “Sing to me? Please?”
“But I’m not sure I know any songs.”
“They must be in there somewhere. The elves wouldn’t have messed that part up.”
At the senior Kinkaid house next door, Grant perused the paper while Emma poured him coffee. “What’s all that commotion, dear?” she asked.
“I don’t hear anything,” he said. Then again, Emma suspected he was going deaf. She glanced at the television on the built-in desk in the kitchen. There was some sort of reality show on. Tha
t’s odd, Emma thought, generally at this time we see the morning news.
Grant lowered his paper to take a sip of coffee. An instant later, he spat it back in his mug. “That’s William’s house!” he spouted, staring at the television.
“Well, so it is!” Emma said in shock.
On the old black-and-white tube set, a farmer on a tractor bulldozed through the crowd in the street. He wore a straw hat and a big chest plaque stating Bridget or Bust! “Let me through! That’s mama’s mine!” he bellowed, barreling past the reporter extending her microphone.
Emma drew a hand to her mouth. “Oh my!”
Grant set down his mug and stood. “We’d better get over there and see what’s going on.”
They pulled on their coats and rushed outdoors, where the situation looked even more overwhelming than it had appeared on the small screen.
“It’s like the whole world’s gone crazy,” Emma said with a gasp.
“Crazy for a certain blonde, I’d say.”
“Gracious,” Emma cried, “Is that a real set of armor?”
They elbowed through the crowd, as Grant spoke in agitated tones. “This is worse than Mardi Gras in New Orleans!”
“How do you think these fellows got wind of Bridget?”
Grant shook his head and pressed ahead. “Don’t know, Emma, but I’m hoping William does.” He parted the crowd with his hands, shouting gruffly. “Let us through! We’re the parents!” A hush fell as heads swung in their direction. Emma’s heartbeat picked up a notch. “We’ve got to get out of here,” she told Grant, as someone in a paratrooper outfit raced toward them.
“Please, sir!” he petitioned Grant. “Can I have your daughter’s hand? Sir!”
“Not her parents,” Grant grumbled, trudging ahead. “His!”
Emma scurried after him. “Best to try the back door,” she said.
“Probably safer,” Grant agreed.
William struggled to collect his thoughts on how to deal with this. He’d have to address the thronging masses somehow, and who knew? It was possible Bridget’s betrothed was among them. William hoped he wasn’t one of the loony ones. Several of the contenders seemed slightly off kilter. But perhaps that was just at first glance.
