Their days had fallen into a familiar pattern, familiar because it wasn’t unlike the one they had followed when they had been married. Of course, with her memory loss still a problem and her job on hold, Kelsey stayed closer to home than she had before. She was always fearful she would run into someone she wouldn’t know or wouldn’t remember. Still, she managed to stay busy with her gardening and their redecorating project, and even though their sleeping arrangements hadn’t changed, she was up with him for breakfast each morning and to see him off to work. They would then go their separate ways until dinner, when they would relax together and talk over what they’d done with the day.
He knew there was nothing exceptional in these activities, nothing that millions of other couples didn’t do day in and day out. But after two long years alone, after the torment of the divorce, after the pain of separation, it was like breaking new ground, like sunlight after a storm. He’d been pretending to be her husband for weeks now, but in this past week, he’d begun to feel like her husband, too.
“Come on,” she said excitedly, pulling him inside. “I’ve got dinner waiting.”
“You cooked?” he said, closing the door behind them.
She gave him a cool look, then breezed through the family room to the patio. “You don’t have to sound so shocked. I do know how, you know.”
He had to smile at the dry humor in her tone. “I just meant with getting the cast off and everything, I wouldn’t have thought you had time.”
“Well, actually, I didn’t,” she confessed, walking to the patio table she had covered with a checkered tablecloth. “I called Vince’s. I thought we should celebrate.”
Coop bent and lifted the lid of the covered casserole dish resting in the center of the table. “Hmm,” he murmured, inhaling deeply. “Ravioli.”
“Your favorite.” She beamed, pulling out a chair and gesturing for him to sit down.
“My favorite?” he asked, giving her a skeptical look.
“Your favorite, my favorite, what’s the difference?” she said impatiently, motioning for him to sit. “You want to argue details, or you want to eat?”
He looked at her for a moment, emotion swelling in his chest. What he wanted was for this never to end. “I want to eat.”
“Good,” she said, tugging on his arm. “This is a celebration, so let’s celebrate. And I’ve got another surprise for you.”
“Another surprise? I’m not sure how much more I can take”
“You can take this,” she said breezily, walking around the table and sitting across from him. She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “There’s cheesecake for dessert.”
He watched her as she dished out the pasta, an eerie sense of déjà vu nagging at him. How many times had they sat like this, talking casually while enjoying a meal together? He had that uncomfortable feeling again, like the last two years had been a bad dream.
“Dr. Hamilton said I was so good with the cast and crutches, I actually built up some of the muscles in my arms and thighs,” she said, handing him a plate.
“So you were sort of doing physical therapy while you were waiting for physical therapy.” He laughed. “Only you could be laid up for six weeks and come out in better shape than you went in.”
“I wouldn’t exactly say I was in better shape,” she insisted, picking up the salad bowl and offering it to him.
“Maybe you wouldn’t,” he murmured, taking the bowl from her. “From where I’m sitting, you look great.”
Kelsey looked up, blinking. “Really?”
He reached for the bottle of wine, uncorked it and gave her a deliberate look. “Of course you do, you know that.”
“Maybe,” she said, her smile broadening. “But it’s nice to know you think so.”
the poured her a glass of wine. “Oh, I think so,” he mumbled, pouring himself a glass and gulping down a mouthful. Suddenly he felt restless and impatient, and looking at her in the soft light of the patio only made those feelings stronger. “There’s never been any doubt about that.”
“Well,” she said, taking a small sip. “For an old married lady, that’s nice to know.”
“You’re hardly old.” He snorted and took another drink. She wasn’t married, either, but he didn’t want to think about that.
He also didn’t want to think about how she had felt in his arms and how much he wanted her at that moment. Hunger gnawed at him, the kind of hunger the meal before him wasn’t going to satisfy.
He finished his glass of wine and poured himself another, hoping it would dull his senses, take the edge off his need. Except that a warmth began to slowly seep into his system, heating his blood and easing the tension in his muscles. It did nothing to take the edge off the hunger—it only made it worse.
He drained the glass, then poured himself another. He felt relaxed and uninhibited, and everything about her aroused him even more. The movement of her hands, the motion of her lips...it was as if the meal became a performance, a demonstration that stirred and inflamed his already overworked and overburdened emotions.
“You’re not eating.”
Coop jumped. “I know,” he said, taking another gulp of wine. “I’m drinking.”
“I can see that,” she said, lowering her fork to her plate. “You’re not hungry?”
He glared at her over his glass, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have no idea.”
“Coop, what are you doing?”
He looked around innocently, giving her a shrug. “What? I can’t have a little drink?”
Her frown deepened. “Is...is everything all right?”
“Everything’s just dandy,” he murmured, draining his glass again and watching the little line between her brows deepen. To appease her, he reached for his fork and took several bites of pasta, but he had no taste for its spicy flavor. He wanted more to drink, wanted to make the hurt go away.
“Coop,” Kelsey said as he reached for the wine bottle again. “No more, please.”
“Just one more glass,” he promised, giving her a theatrical wink.
He finished the glass in one gulp, watching the disapproval in her eyes and realizing right then what it was he had to do. He had to get drunk, had to make himself as offensive and unpleasant as he could. He had to do everything he could to anger and upset her, because it was all he had left. There was no cast on her leg. There were no internal injuries or bruised flesh to rely on, no physical barriers to distract him. But he had no right to want her the way he did.
He poured the last of the wine into his glass and lowered the empty bottle to the table. His judgment was a little off, and the bottom of the bottle hit the curved lip of his spoon, sending it flying through the air in a spectacular arc. It landed noisily on the terra-cotta tiles of the patio floor.
“Oops,” he said with a grin, the word feeling thick and heavy on his tongue.
Kelsey didn’t smile. She didn’t even move. She just sat there, looking at him and lightly tapping her finger against the side of her wineglass.
Coop drained his wine, feeling the patio list toward the ocean. The alcohol was working, and it looked as though his plan to make her angry was working, as well. He wanted her so mad she wouldn’t welcome his touch. Then maybe she’d stop him if he decided to do something stupid, if he decided to push the dishes to one side and pull her across the table to him.
“Maybe you’ll think about eating something now,” she said in a tight voice, nodding at the empty bottle on the table.
Coop looked at her, desire pounding at him like a drum, and slowly rose to his feet.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I want more wine.”
Chapter 10
Kelsey stared out through the French doors and down at the millions of tiny lights that dotted the Santa Barbara coastline below. She wished she could cry, wished she could summon tears and get rid of the emotion that choked her like hands around her neck. Except she was too angry to cry—angry or frightened, she couldn’t tell which.
Her fists closed into tight balls, and she pounded them against her thighs. What had happened? What had caused Coop to drink like that? It was as though he’d been trying to be unpleasant, had purposely wanted to spoil the evening.
She closed her eyes to the magnificent nightscape, feeling a sense of dread start to build in her chest—that awful dread that lived in those murky black depths where her memories lay hidden. What was in all that darkness that frightened her so? What had happened in that time she had lost?
She opened her eyes, turned from the window and glanced across the room at the hospital bed. That bed had disturbed her from the beginning. It didn’t belong there. It didn’t make sense. Coop had given her an eloquent explanation about doctors’ orders and providing her with the utmost comfort during her recovery, but it had been six weeks. Why were they still sleeping in separate bedrooms?
Anxiety rose in her throat, tasting bitter and vile. What was it she’d blocked out? He’d sworn to her there was no other woman, but there had to be something. Had their marriage been in trouble? Had Coop developed a drinking problem? What could have happened to explain why they weren’t sleeping together?
She thought back over the past several weeks, thought of Coop’s careful attentions, of his affection and his concern for her. The feelings had been real between them, she was certain of that.
She glanced at the faded T-shirt he’d given to her to use as a nightgown. She might have forgotten a lot about the past, but she still knew him, still knew her husband. When he’d told her he loved her, he hadn’t been lying. She’d seen the love in his eyes, felt it in her heart.
She walked across the bedroom and ran a hand along the cold rail of the hospital bed. So why was this ugly thing still here? If there were problems, if there was something she’d forgotten, something wrong between them, why hadn’t he just told her? Was there something he was protecting her from, something he didn’t want her to know?
Pressure throbbed fierce at her temples, tension from a long, frustrating evening spent alone in her room. She had to stop this, had to stop guessing, had to stop letting her fears and anxieties get the best of her. There was a good chance tonight had nothing to do with her amnesia. It might have been nothing more than a wife getting annoyed with her husband—a common, ordinary marital dispute. Surely they weren’t immune. She could certainly remember arguments they’d had in the past. Why did it have to be more than that?”
She ambled through the darkness, then flipped the switch in the master bath, bringing the room to life with light. At the moment, it really didn’t matter what kind of argument they were having, or why. It had caused one hell of a headache—and it was making it difficult for her to think straight at all.
She rummaged through the medicine cabinet and pulled out the small plastic bottle of pain relievers. If she could get the throbbing to stop long enough, maybe she could fall asleep. After a good night’s sleep, maybe things would look better.
“Oh, no,” she moaned, slipping off the cap and looking into the empty container. She stared at herself in the mirror, frowning and feeling the painful pulsing inside her head grow worse. “No, no, no, no!”
She thought of the full bottle of aspirin on the cupboard shelf in the kitchen and cringed. Leaving the bedroom meant seeing Coop again, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that right now, not when she felt so angry—or so vulnerable.
When he’d returned to the patio with a second bottle of wine, she’d decided she’d had enough. She had gotten up and—despite her weak leg—stomped down the hall and into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
It had been a brilliant exit, dramatic and theatrical, and she didn’t doubt it had demonstrated to him just how displeased she was with him. Unfortunately, it also left her stranded with an empty bottle of aspirin.
Of course, it might have been different if he had come after her, had made some attempt to apologize or make amends, but he hadn’t. She’d been left to while away the evening alone in her room, coping with her fears and letting her imagination run wild.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror, watching her frown lines deepen. How had Coop spent the evening? Had his been as long and as frustrating as hers had been? Did he regret what had happened, or had he finished that second bottle of wine and fallen asleep in front of the television?
“Forget the aspirin,” she said to her reflection, deciding it wasn’t worth it. The last thing she needed was to find him sprawled across the sofa sound asleep.
She switched off the bathroom light, feeling her way through the darkness to the bed. She would tough it out, would just force herself to forget about the pounding behind her eyes, forget about the tension crawling up her neck, and simply get some rest.
She pulled the covers back, climbed in and settled back against the pillows. It was, after all, just a headache. It wasn’t as though she’d never had one before. How bad could it be? She would relax and use a little mind over matter, just concentrate on her breathing like women in labor did and—
She sprang into a sitting position. Something was clicking in her brain. Something had been triggered and was finding its way out of those lost regions in her memory.
Breathing. Relaxing. Labor. It was so close, so close. It was right there, right on the outskirts of her memory, right in back of her brain. She almost had it, she could almost remember...
Only as suddenly as it had come, it disappeared again, fading into the abyss.
Kelsey sank against the pillows again, her heart pounding furiously. She’d almost had it, had almost been able to grab it and to pull it back. Except now it was gone.
She closed her eyes tight and pounded her fists against the mattress. Just a few seconds more, that’s all it would have taken. A few lousy seconds, and she would have had it.
“Mind over matter,” she murmured again, feeling her heart pound in rhythm with the tension in her head. “Mind over matter.”
She tried to relax, tried to fill her thoughts with all those things she’d been thinking of when the memory had started to surface. She stared at the dark ceiling, taking deep breaths and trying to figure out what it was about women in labor and breathing techniques that had seemed so familiar. Had it been because of her job? Something in pediatrics and working with newborns that she’d almost remembered?
She pounded her fists on the mattress again, straining to remember, hoping that faint spark of recognition would come back, that it would flame and grow and trigger something again. But nothing came, no glimmer, no hint of anything. Restless and frustrated, she thrashed about, trying to relax, and only succeeding in stirring herself up more.
“I can’t stand it,” she muttered, kicking the covers aside and sitting up. But the motion was too sudden, too harsh, and pain exploded at her temples and behind her eyes.
She paused long enough for the painful throbbing to ease, then slowly swung her legs off the bed and came carefully to her feet. She checked the time on the clock beside the bed. Eleven forty-six. Chances were Coop had gone to bed. Not that it mattered. Running into him was a chance she’d have to take, because she needed something for her headache, and she needed it now.
Pausing at the doors, she listened before she turned the knob. But there was no sound coming from the other side. Cracking the door, she peered out. The hallway was dark and deserted. The whole house looked dark and deserted.
She took a few hesitant steps forward, then paused and listened again. The door to his room was closed. No doubt he had gone to bed.
Relaxing a little, she quickly made her way down the hall, through the breakfast nook and into the kitchen. There wasn’t any need for lights. She knew the way by heart. The small bottle of aspirins was just where she’d expected it to be, and she snapped the cap in one smooth motion. The tablets tasted bitter on her tongue, but she didn’t mind. She just wanted them to dissolve, wanted the medication to start moving through her bloodstream and take the pain away.
“Better,” sh
e whispered, washing the tablets down with several sips of bottled water from the refrigerator. “Yes, better.” The water tasted sweet and icy cold and very refreshing after the aspirin’s acrid bite, and she took another long drink. “Much, much better.”
She walked to the sink and looked out the kitchen window to Jonathan’s house across the street. Despite the late hour, lights burned bright inside the house, making it look warm and inviting with its flower-lined walks and manicured lawns. It looked full of life, of happy times and children.
She followed the path of a car as it passed slowly along the street, wondering what her house looked like to an outsider. Did it look as dark and cold and empty as it felt to her at times? Would it ever have that warm, lived-in look? Would it ever be filled with children?
She thought of Coop, of the plans they’d made and the family they hoped to have. Was that the reason they were still sleeping apart? Did he not want to risk a pregnancy until she was completely over her injuries and her lost memories had returned? Or was it that he’d changed his mind, that a family wasn’t something he wanted any longer?
“Kelsey?”
She’d walked right past him. At first he’d thought she was ignoring him because she was too angry to speak. Not that he blamed her. He’d acted like a jerk, sloppy and rude. He wouldn’t be surprised if she never talked to him again.
Except as he watched her he realized she hadn’t seen him sitting there in a dark corner of the breakfast nook. She wasn’t ignoring him—she didn’t even know he was there.
He took a moment, watching her as she pulled the aspirin bottle from the cupboard and popped several tablets into her mouth. He’d been stupid to drink the way he had, to think alcohol would do anything more than inflame his already heightened senses. He might have succeeded in making her angry tonight, might have been able to make himself so unpleasant that she’d locked herself in her room all evening. But it had done nothing to stem his desire, nothing to stop him from wanting her.
Mind Over Marriage Page 14
