A Child on the Way

by Janis Reams Hudson

  Good grief, why would she bring her medical records? Unless she wasn’t planning on returning.

  And what, she wondered, did the money have to do with this?

  She was still asking herself these questions when a knock sounded on the bedroom door.

  Startled, she jumped and placed one hand over her heart, the other over her abdomen.

  “Lisa?” Jack called.

  She crossed to the door and opened it. “Yes?”

  He had removed his coat and boots, and stood in his stockinged feet, the open collar of his blue plaid flannel shirt revealing the crew neck of a white T-shirt. The shrug he gave her was charmingly self-conscious.

  “I, uh, just wanted to make sure you hadn’t gone to sleep. With a head injury…”

  She couldn’t help but smile in appreciation and gratitude at his concern. “No, I’m awake. Thank you for checking.”

  “I checked the kitchen, too. It’s pretty well stocked. Are you hungry?”

  She started to answer, but her stomach rumbled and beat her to it.

  Jack grinned. “I guess that means yes.”

  It was her turn to be self-conscious. She laughed. “I guess it does.” She flipped off the bedroom light and followed her knight to the kitchen.

  She came to the conclusion that this man was comfortable with himself. It showed in the easy way he moved and walked, the confident carriage of his head, the straightness of his shoulders. Comfortable, and sure of himself and his place in the world.

  Had she ever felt like that? Was Lisa Hampton comfortable with herself and her place in the world? Did she love the father of her child? Did he love her? If so, why did she get this disconcerting tightness at the base of her skull every time she thought about the man—whoever he was?

  Because she had no answer to that and the possibilities were limitless, the father of her baby went the way of the money in her suitcase. Out of sight, out of mind. She stuffed him under a mental mattress, determined not to think about him for now. He obviously wasn’t here with her, where he belonged. Didn’t a father-to-be belong with the mother-to-be?

  On the other hand, maybe she had left him. Maybe that was why she was here alone.

  Or maybe she had done something outrageous, such as robbed a liquor store in order to run away and meet him so they could flee the law together and raise their child on the run.

  God, she had to stop this or go crazy.

  “What are you hungry for?” Jack asked her.

  Startled, she jerked her hands up to her abdomen. “Oh. Anything, really. Anything at all.”

  Jack noticed the way she had jumped at the sound of his voice. Noticed, too, that wary look in those emerald-green eyes. He couldn’t say he blamed her, a woman in her condition, alone, stranded in the middle of nowhere with a strange man.

  He wanted to tell her he wasn’t strange, that he was no threat to her. But then, if she believed every man who came along and said, “Trust me,” she’d be a fool, and Lisa Hampton didn’t seem like a fool to him.

  Besides, she was Belinda’s best friend, and Belinda wouldn’t give the time of day to a fool.

  To help ease some of her worry and tension, he kept his voice friendly, relaxed. “How about we stick with something fast and easy this time, like soup?”

  “Sounds good. What can I do?”

  “You can sit down and put your feet up. Pregnant women and car accidents don’t mix well.”

  “I’m fine,” she told him. But she pulled out a chair at the table and sat.

  Jack appreciated it, even if she was only humoring him. He wasn’t going to be able to quit worrying about her and that baby until he got them into town to the doctor. And that, judging by the way the storm was strengthening outside, was not going to be anytime soon.

  “Chicken noodle or tomato?” he asked.

  She stared at him blankly for a moment, then blinked. “Either one is fine.”

  “Okay, then I’ll surprise you.”

  There obviously hadn’t been a spare microwave in storage when Belinda furnished this place for Lisa, so Jack had to heat the soup—chicken noodle, he’d decided—the old-fashioned way, in a pan on the stove.

  “Nice shoes, by the way,” Jack told her while waiting for the soup to heat.

  She held out one foot and rotated it. “Thank you. They do make a fashion statement, don’t they?”

  Jack chuckled at the big cartoon birds adorning her feet. “They make some kind of statement, I’m sure.”

  While the soup heated, Jack went to the living room and turned on the television in hopes of catching a weather report. All that was on was football. He kept the volume on low.

  As soon as the soup was hot, Jack poured it into bowls and carried the bowls to the table. At her first taste, she reared back, looked at her spoon and smiled, as though pleasantly surprised.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “No. It’s delicious.”

  They didn’t speak again. They were both too hungry, too busy eating. The only sound was the music of spoons clicking on porcelain, the occasional creak of a chair from the shifting of weight and the faint murmur from the television.

  Over all these mundane sounds was the constant howl of the wind outside the snug little house.

  When they finished eating, Lisa let out a sigh. “I was hungrier than I’d realized. Thank you. It was just what I needed. Brenda went to a lot of trouble to stock food for me.”

  Brenda? Jack forced himself to appear relaxed. He scooted his chair back and turned it sideways so he could stretch out his legs without getting tangled up with the chair legs beneath the table.

  “Yeah,” he said easily, watching her closely. “That’s Brenda for you.”

  The smile she gave him bordered on nervous and flitted away quickly. “She never changes.”

  “Nope. Same ol’ Brenda. Still tall, still forty pounds overweight. Still got that long blond ponytail clear down her back.”

  Another nervous smile. “That’s her.”

  “That’s bull.”

  She blinked. “Pardon?”

  “In the first place,” Jack said, his voice turning cold and hard, “your best friend’s name is Belinda, not Brenda. In the second, she’s short, thin and has short dark hair. Now suppose you tell me who you really are, what you’re doing here, and what you’ve done with the real Lisa Hampton.”

  Chapter Two

  Panic came into her eyes. Panic, and tears. “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “Cut the crap, lady.” He would not let her tears get to him. “You looked me square in the eye and lied. You ought to be able to look me in the eye and tell me the truth. Who are you?”

  “But I am Lisa Hampton,” she cried, her hands curling into fists, her tears threatening to overflow. “I’m sure I am.”

  Jack paused in the act of leaning forward. “You’re sure you are? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Her eyes widened, as though she hadn’t meant to say those last words aloud. “I…”

  “Come on, talk to me.”

  “I’ll prove it.” She pushed herself from the chair.

  “Prove what?”

  “That I’m Lisa Hampton.” Her lower lip trembled even as she sucked back her tears. “Just wait.” She dashed out of the kitchen.

  Jack started to jump up and follow her, but he reminded himself that she couldn’t go far. Not in this weather. He heard her go down the hall and into the bedroom. A moment later, slightly out of breath, she was back in the kitchen.

  “Here.” She thrust a wallet at him, held open to show him a driver’s license. “Lisa Hampton. That’s me.”

  Jack looked at the license. The name was sure enough Lisa Hampton, and the photo was probably her, although with those damn mug shots that ended up on most licenses, he supposed it could be a picture of someone else. But no, he thought again, that was her.

  “It’s me, isn’t it?”

  Jack did a double take. “What do you mean, isn’t it?” />
  His question plainly startled her. “Oh. I mean…I just meant, see? It’s me. Lisa Hampton.”

  With suspicion doing a tap dance up and down his spine, Jack studied her with narrowed eyes. Something wasn’t quite right here. He’d thought she’d been lying earlier. Right now she didn’t look as if she was lying—she looked…uncertain. “Is it?” he asked in response to her statement. “Are you really Lisa Hampton?”

  “Why are you doing this?” she cried. “Why don’t you believe me?”

  “I told you why. You claim to be best friends with a woman whose name you can’t remember. You don’t know what she looks like. Why is that? If you’re Lisa Hampton, why don’t you know your own best friend?”

  Lisa squeezed her eyes shut and fought tears of frustration. What was the use? She obviously wasn’t fooling him. If only she didn’t feel so…lost. Lost to herself. Her voice, when it came, was a whisper of anguish. “I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember your best friend?” he scoffed.

  “I don’t remember anything,” she cried.

  Jack stared at her, dumbfounded. There was no denying the anguish in her eyes, or the fear. But fear of what? Of being caught in a lie?

  That didn’t make any sense. Why would she lie about a thing like this?

  “Nothing?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” Her voice shook. “Not my name, not what I’m doing here or how I got here. Not even my face,” she added with despair, “when I look in the mirror.”

  “Good God.” Women weren’t at the top of the list of people Jack trusted, but he couldn’t help but believe her. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from repeating. “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.” And then she buried her face in her hands and cried. Great racking sobs that seemed to be torn from her depths.

  His heart squeezing, Jack rose swiftly and, with a hand to her shoulder, guided her back to her chair at the table. More than one woman, from his mother on down, had tried to manipulate him with tears, but not even his mother at her worst had ever sounded so…lost. It got to him. He couldn’t deny it.

  She didn’t seem to mind his hand on her shoulder, so he left it there. He told himself it was for her benefit, that it might help her to know she wasn’t alone.

  It did help. Through her tears, Lisa was grateful to know that Jack Wilder was kind enough to comfort a hysterical woman. His touch was so warm and strong, so sure and certain, she wanted to fling herself into his arms and hide there until her world righted itself and she could look in the mirror and know who she was.

  The urge to turn to him dried her tears as no amount of comforting words could have. Good grief, she hoped she wasn’t the type of woman who needed a man to cling to.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed.

  “For what?”

  It wasn’t his voice that startled her, but that it came from right beside her ear. She hadn’t realized he was crouching beside her chair, but when she turned her head, they were eye to eye.

  She let out a nervous puff of breath. “For falling apart like that.”

  He gave a small shrug. “From the sound of it, I’d say it’s been building up for quite a while. You needed to get it out.”

  She sniffed. “I wish I knew.”

  “And I wish we could get you to a doctor. That bump on your head must have done more damage than we realized.”

  Lisa pressed her fingers to the knot on her forehead and winced.

  Jack took her hand and brought it down to the table. “I’ll tell you what I tell my nephews—don’t play with it.”

  Reluctantly, but unable to help herself, she smiled. “Are you telling me I’m being childish?”

  “No.”

  The softness in that deep voice started a melting sensation in her bones. For a long moment all she could do was look into those bright blue eyes. What was the matter with her? Her entire life had been wiped from her mind, and she was being pulled toward this stranger like the proverbial moth to a flame.

  She forced herself to blink and look away, breaking whatever spell had held her in its grip. “How old are these nephews of yours?”

  He stood and carried their empty bowls to the sink. “Well, let’s see. Jason’s the oldest, at seven. Then there’s Clay, who’s five, and Grant is three. Those are Ace and Belinda’s boys. Cody, my sister’s new stepson, is five.”

  “Belinda has three sons?”

  Jack finished rinsing the bowls and turned to look at her. “They’re her stepsons. And her nephews.”

  Lisa blinked. “How does that work?”

  Jack chuckled. “It’s confusing, but it works fine. Ace was married to Belinda’s sister, Cathy. Cathy died—” Jack cut himself off. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell a pregnant woman about another woman dying in childbirth. No sense putting a fear like that in her head. “And a couple of years later, Belinda came for the summer to help him take care of the boys. She and Ace ended up married.”

  “It sounds like you’ve got a big family.”

  “Big enough. Two brothers, one sister.”

  “It must be nice,” she said wistfully.

  “Does that mean you’re an only child?” he asked casually.

  She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it with a frown. “I don’t know. I…It was there. I knew the answer. Then it was gone. Just…poof. God, this is driving me crazy. Why can’t I remember?”

  “You will,” he told her. “You probably just knocked your marbles loose today out there in that ditch. Don’t try to push it. It’ll come.”

  She arched a brow. “You have a lot of experience with amnesia, do you?”

  “No, but it’s just common sense. I like to think I have enough of that to get me by.”

  Lisa let out a harsh breath. What good would it do her to pick a fight with him? He was, after all, the only person on the planet she could truthfully say she knew.

  Now there was an unsettling thought. Better to get her mind on something else. Anything else. “Your family. Belinda’s family. Do I know any of them? I mean, besides Belinda.”

  Jack heard the wistful tone in her voice, and he had to fight the urge to cross the room and offer whatever comfort he could. What was it about this woman that kept filling him with the desire to wrap his arms around her and hold on?

  “No,” he said in answer to her question. “I don’t think so. I just remember hearing her talk about you now and then.”

  “Was it good, what she said about me?”

  “You’re her best friend.”

  “Does that mean I’m a good person, do you think?”

  It struck Jack as appalling that she didn’t even know that much about herself. No wonder that fear lurked in her eyes. He offered her a smile. “You must be okay. I don’t think bad people wear cartoon characters on their feet.”

  “Well,” she said with an answering smile, brief though it was, that almost, but not quite, chased the fear from her eyes. “There is that.”

  Jack turned back to the sink and, for something to do, decided to wash the few dishes they’d used.

  When Lisa saw what he was doing, she rose and started opening drawers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for a dish towel. You’re washing, so I’ll dry. But really, you cooked, so I should clean up.”

  “There. We just learned something else about you. You’re not lazy. You don’t expect people to wait on you.”

  “I should hope not!” she exclaimed.

  “And you have fairly strong opinions about how people should behave,” he added with a grin.

  “I do?”

  “I’d say so, judging by your response just now.” He rinsed a bowl and handed it to her.

  Frowning in thought, Lisa took the bowl and dried it. When she finished with the second one, she opened a cabinet door, looking for the place they belonged. Instead of dishes, she found groceries. A box of cereal sporting a cartoon tiger.

  They’re grrr-eat!

 
; Lisa whipped her head around, certain that someone had just shouted the words in her ear.

  “What?” Jack asked. “Is something wrong?”

  There was no one in the room with her except Jack. Frowning, she looked back at the cereal box. “Tony.”

  “Who?”

  “The tiger on the box. His name is Tony.”

  Jack pulled the plug on the sink. Water gurgled down the drain. “Yeah, so?”

  Lisa gripped the handle on the cabinet door until her knuckles turned white. “So how do I know that, when I don’t know my own name? How do I know that if I turn the box next to it around, there’ll be three little guys on it named Snap, Crackle and Pop, or that the brand of coffee sitting next to it promises to be good to the last drop? How do I know these things? Do I know them, or am I making them up?”

  “You’re not making them up. You’re remembering carefully planned advertising campaigns designed to embed themselves in your unconscious mind. I’d say they worked.”

  Dismayed, she looked at him. “Ad campaigns?”

  “That’s right. Slogans. Tag lines. Brand-name identification. Whatever they’re called. You’ve been bombarded with them—everyone has—every time you’ve turned on the television or radio since the day you were born.”

  She shook her head and closed the cabinet door. “Of all the things to remember.”

  Jack shrugged. “You remember how to walk, how to talk, how to use a spoon, dry dishes. The way I see it, the only things you don’t remember are personal things, about you. At least, that’s the way it happens in the movies.”

  “The movies? Gee, thanks, Dr. Wilder, for that considered medical opinion. If I were a movie, I could watch myself and fill in all these blanks in my head. I feel more like a videotape that’s been bulk-erased.”

  Watching her closely, Jack picked up the bowls she had dried and put them in the lower end cabinet. “Bulk-erased?”

  She gave a negligent shrug, searched for and found the silverware drawer and put their spoons away. “As opposed to simply recording black over a section of the tape. You put the tape on this machine that’s basically a giant magnet, and it erases the whole tape at once. Presto. Bulk-erased.”