The woman breezed out again, and Brianna glanced down at the document. “Ben’s birth certificate.” A small smile tugged her mouth as she scanned the document. “Benjamin Coleman. Seven pounds seven ounces.” Her brow twitched. “Uh-oh.”
“What?” Hunter stepped closer to glance at the clipboard.
“‘Father, Hunter Mansfield.’ They listed you as his father.”
He gave her foot a squeeze through the light blanket. “That is what we told them when you were brought in. So I could stay with you.”
“I can’t say you’re Ben’s father on a legal document when you aren’t. That’s asking too much of you.”
He winked. “I can think of a lot worse things than being assumed to be your husband.”
“But this...” She tapped the clipboard with her pen. “This is big.”
“Maybe. But you can’t list Chris without leaving the kind of trail to Ben and evidence of his lineage you were wanting to avoid.” He inhaled deeply, then blew it out through pursed lips. “Why don’t you leave my name for now? Maybe you can amend the document later, when you know it is safe. I don’t mind playing Ben’s father awhile longer.”
She flashed him a smile, then bent her head and beetled her brow. “Just the same, I’m going home now. The crisis has passed, and I know I have an aunt who can help me fill in the holes in my memory. I can’t impose on you any longer.”
An uneasy niggle scraped through Hunter. “Did I complain?”
“No. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate all you’ve done. I do, more than words can say!” Her eyes held a heartbreaking sadness and determination. “But I can’t depend on your generosity forever.” She squared her petite shoulders and firmed her full lips. “This pretend marriage needs to end. I want a divorce.”
* * *
Hunter parked his truck on the driveway at Brianna’s house and glanced at her across the front seat. He’d managed to convince her to hold off on their “divorce.” He refused to leave her until he’d helped her settle back into her house and made sure she could handle her newborn on her own. For Ben’s sake. Yes, he’d shamelessly played the baby card, knowing a mother’s priority would always be her child.
“Home, sweet home. So do you recognize it? Any little tickles of memory?”
She sighed and stared hard at the house, her face lined in concentration, clearly willing her memory to return with every fiber of her being. If determination were the deciding factor in returning her memory, Brianna would be back in full form in no time. Unfortunately, she couldn’t know if the rest of her memories would ever return.
“No.” Her body sagged, her dejection palpable. “Nothing.”
He patted her knee. “Give it time. The neurologist said the swelling could take days to recede.”
The look she shot him echoed the doubts and questions that plagued him. What if the memories didn’t come back? What if her past, her identity, her career, her family never returned?
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go to a hotel or my apartment, just until we figure out the extent of the threat against you?” he asked.
She gnawed her bottom lip and dented her brow in thought. “I can’t impose on you that way. Besides, Ben’s nursery is here. And Sorsha. And I want to be surrounded by familiar things. If I’m in my own home, maybe my memory will return sooner.”
“Maybe, but—“
“The sooner I regain my memory, the sooner I can figure out what I need to do about Prince Cristoff.” She sent him a pleading look. “I need to be here.”
Hunter disagreed, but for the time being, he let the issue drop. He could understand her desperate desire to regain her memory, and if she thought she’d recover her past surrounded by her possessions, he’d do his part by keeping vigil over her and her son.
Opening the back door of his extended cab, Hunter leaned in to unbuckle the baby seat Ben had ridden home in. “Welcome home, buddy!”
The baby’s unfocused dark blue eyes blinked at him, and a bubble of spit popped at his lips. Hunter chuckled, feeling a tug of nostalgia. He remembered the family celebrations when his older brother Grant and his wife had brought their daughters home from the hospital. When he’d driven Darby home with his newborn niece to a surprise reception of Mansfield family and friends. Video cameras had rolled, joyful tears had flowed, sumptuous food had been shared. Laughter, toasts, family.
His chest tightened. None of that awaited Brianna. And that was just...wrong. He gritted his back teeth and glanced to the front seat, where Brianna was gingerly shifting her sore body to climb out of the truck. “No. Bri, sit tight. I’m coming.”
“I don’t need—”
He pulled his phone from his pocket and thumbed the camera app open. “We have to do this homecoming properly. Wait there.” Switching his camera to video mode, he hit Play. “Here’s baby Ben at two days old. He just arrived home from the hospital. Say hi, Ben.”
Keeping the video trained on Ben, he lifted the carrier out of the truck and circled the fender to the passenger side. Raising the phone, he focused on Brianna. “Welcome home, Mom.”
Brianna eyed the phone and gave a startled gasp. Patting her hair, she groaned, “Hunter, no. I look horrid. Turn that off!”
“Au contraire. You look beautiful, sweetheart. Doesn’t she, Ben?” He focused the video on the baby, then set the car seat down so he’d have a free hand to help Brianna out of the truck’s high front seat. A videographer would have been handy, but without any other help, Hunter juggled the role along with that of Brianna’s escort, bellhop, baby carrier and welcome-committee chair. “It’s not every day you bring your son home from the hospital, and this is one memory I don’t want you to lose.”
When he raised the camera to Brianna again, her eyes were full of tears. His pulse tripped, and he thumbed off the video. “Bri? Something wrong?”
“You’re too good to be true.”
“Because I’m filming Ben’s homecoming?” He gave her a dismissive headshake.
“Because you thought of filming Ben’s homecoming. Because you’re trying in so many ways to make a horrible situation for me bearable. Even happy.”
“Yes.” He aimed a finger at her, choosing not to respond to her sentimentality. Experience had told him hormonal women, especially pregnant or postnatal women, were like quicksand. Better to not let them suck you into an emotional jag. “Happy. So no more tears. Give me a smile for this happy day.” He raised the camera again and waited for her to wipe her cheeks and twitch a half grin. He started filming again and held out a hand to her.
Despite the warm autumn air, Brianna’s hand was cold, heightening his perception of her vulnerability. His grip swallowed her slim fingers, and a protective instinct in him charged from its cave, roaring. He might not be Ben’s father, and maybe Brianna thought she needed to go it alone, but he’d formed a bond with this mother and her child in the past couple of days. He’d be damned if he’d cut and run, leave them to fend for themselves.
Down, boy, he told the testosterone-pumped beast snarling inside him. Give her space. You can’t force yourself on her if she doesn’t want your protection.
Brianna slid off the truck seat and leaned over Ben’s carrier. Hunter kept filming.
“This is our home, sweet boy. What do you think?” She lifted him out of the car seat and cradled him in her arms, positioning him so that the camera could see his face. She gazed down at her son, and the tremulous smile she’d pasted on for the camera blossomed to full flower.
The joy and love that lit her face as she beamed at Ben hit Hunter between the ribs. Like a breath-stealing fist to the chest. He may have actually staggered back a step. His phone sagged so that his subject wasn’t centered as he blinked at the scene in front of him, reeling.
He’d been at his brother’s house when his children were brought home
, shared the happiness of the event, seen the dorky, slaphappy look on Grant’s face, even teased his brother about it. But like a bolt from the blue, now he got it. He understood the primal, gut-wrenching, heart-squeezing desire for a family. His own family.
Sure, he loved his brothers and parents, would die for his precious and precocious nieces. But watching Brianna cuddle her son, seeing her radiant joy, feeling that clawing he-man need to defend her and make her happy... Hunter drew a deep breath and recentered his subject in the video frame.
His gut pitched with recognition. He wanted this. Milestone happy memories with his own wife. Children. A house. A dog or cat, maybe both. Little League. Junior ballet.
He swallowed the knot of trepidation that climbed his throat. Where had this notion of settling down and committing to domestic life come from?
Sure, several years ago he’d offered to marry Darby, his best friend, after she found out she was pregnant with his dead brother’s baby. But she’d turned him down. He’d been a little hurt and a lot relieved. She’d loved Connor and couldn’t justify settling for his brother, preventing Hunter from finding true love. Darby’s refusal had been a good choice, since Connor had proved to be alive after all and was now married to Darby and in WitSec with their daughter.
Since his well-intended proposal to Darby, he hadn’t given marriage a second thought. Until now. Until Brianna. And once again, the woman who had him thinking of settling down had another man in her life, a man who, by all accounts, was the better option. An honest-to-God prince.
“Oops,” Brianna said and chuckled, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Maybe that could be edited out?” She dug a burp cloth out of the diaper bag and wiped Ben’s mouth where he’d spit up a little milk. After tucking the dirty cloth in the bag again, she faced Hunter and the camera. “Say cheese, Ben.”
She flashed him a big smile, and Hunter felt the earth tilt a little. Jeez, he had it bad.
Get over it, Mansfield. You can’t stand in the way of the royal life she has a right to.
He finished filming and pulled out the house key he’d used yesterday. After unlocking the door, Hunter stood back so that Brianna could enter first. Baby carrier in one hand, Ben in the crook of her other arm, she moved past him, trailing the scent of baby powder, an olfactive reminder of her vulnerability. She stopped short before she’d even cleared the doorway.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered.
“What? Do you remember the—” Hunter noticed the condition of the living room and fell silent for a moment. The room had been tossed.
Sofa cushions were upended, drawers left open with papers spilled onto the floor, books pulled from shelves, furniture askew. After a moment of surveying the damage, Hunter took Brianna’s arm and tugged her back, stepping in front of her. “Maybe you should go back out to my truck with Ben. I’ll check the house and make sure whoever did this is gone.”
“You mean it wasn’t like this yesterday when you were here?”
“No. I’d have told you if I’d found this yesterday. This is new. This is...disturbing.”
Brianna stared past him at the destruction to her living room. “It’s like they were looking for something, but...what could I have that was so important?”
Hunter set the diaper bag on the floor and frowned. “Maybe a clue to where the prince is hiding.”
She frowned. “The video message?”
“Maybe. We don’t know if he’s really in New Orleans or not. I still think something in the video was off.”
“But if he’s not there, I don’t know—”
“You don’t remember. Because of the accident. That’s not to say you didn’t have important information before your concussion, that you won’t remember something as you heal and the swelling goes down.”
Brianna’s face, already pale with fright, leeched of even more color. “Hunter, I—”
“Hey, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. That’s a promise.” He pulled her into a lopsided bear hug, careful not to squash Ben, and stroked a hand down her back. He absorbed her tremors, even as his resolve to protect her ratcheted up. “Take Ben back to my truck. Lock the doors.”
She pulled back and met his gaze with a troubled expression denting her brow. The turmoil in her eyes wrenched inside him.
After escorting her back to his pickup, he searched everywhere in the house he thought an intruder could hide. He checked closets and looked under beds—which was where he found a disgruntled Sorsha hiding. He coaxed the cat out with soothing tones and scratched Sorsha behind the ears when she crept out to him, meowing her complaint about the ruffians who’d scared her with their destruction.
When he’d assured himself the house was safe, he dialed 911 and walked out to bring Brianna inside.
She sent him a dubious look when she spotted the phone at his ear.
“Who is that?” she mouthed.
Police, he mouthed back.
Her eyes widened, and panic filled her face. She shook her head, whispering loudly, “No! Chris said no police!”
Hunter scowled at her, even as the emergency operator confirmed that a patrol unit was on the way. He muffled the phone against his chest before he answered her. “Don’t you think he meant the police shouldn’t be told about him? This can be handled as an average break-in.”
“Except we both know it’s not an average break-in. The people who did this want Chris. They—” she shivered “—want Ben.”
The idea of someone coming after Brianna’s baby sent ice to his marrow, followed quickly by the heat of fury toward anyone who dared to hurt Ben or Brianna. “I just don’t see how it’s a bad thing to alert the police to a potential threat against you.”
“I can’t explain it, but you heard Chris. He was very clear. He knows the situation better than we do. He’s got to have good reasons for being so adamant.”
Her sky-blue eyes pleaded with him, and the fact that she trusted Chris’s judgment over his chafed. He didn’t want to argue with her. Still, he was the one here, defending her, taking care of her postdelivery, putting his ass on the line to keep her safe. His Royal Hideness left her to fend for herself...with his newborn baby. Prince Chris was the one who’d put Brianna in danger.
Hunter took a deep breath and gritted his back teeth. Jealous much?
“Since the cops are already on the way, let’s let them have a look around, take a report. It may turn out this was a simple break-in, nothing more sinister.”
Brianna bit her lip, looking unconvinced, but the arrival of a squad car preempted further discussion. Hunter recognized the officer as someone he’d gone to high school with, and while Brianna watched, a frown denting her forehead, Hunter chatted up old times as he led the officer through the house.
“Anything missing?” the officer asked as he walked from the living room into Brianna’s bedroom. “I see the flat-screen TV and jewelry are still here. Those are usually taken in a robbery.”
“Um...” Hunter glanced to the living-room couch, where Brianna had settled with Ben. Thanks to her amnesia, she wasn’t likely to remember what she’d owned or know if anything was gone. “I don’t think she’s had a chance to make a list of what’s missing yet. Can we get back to you and add that as a P.S. to your report?”
The officer stuck his pen in his shirt pocket and nodded. “Just give the case number to the officer who takes your list. They can add it to the file I’ll start.”
“In light of the break-in, could you ask for patrol cars to keep a watch on her house for the next several days? I’m concerned about her safety.”
“Will do. Often when there’s a break-in like this, several more in the neighborhood will follow. We generally will watch the area for the perp to return.”
Hunter didn’t contest the officer’s theory that this was a run-of-the mill break-in. He was sa
tisfied simply knowing the police were willing to patrol the neighborhood and watch Brianna’s house.
While the officer finished his search, Hunter joined Brianna on the couch, where she cradled her sleeping son in her arms. The policeman checked for signs of forced entry and footprints outside windows, then called for a forensics team to dust for prints on the doorknobs and surfaces of cabinets that had obviously been rifled through. Hunter didn’t expect them to find much, if anything. He had a hunch the people who’d ransacked Brianna’s place were professionals. What was more, he feared the thing they’d come to take was Brianna’s life.
Chapter 7
That evening after the police had left and Hunter and Brianna had cleaned up the majority of the damage, Hunter ordered a pizza for their dinner. Brianna had protested when he told her his plans to hang around, believing the added police patrols would be sufficient protection. But he’d refused to leave, convinced that the people who’d rifled her house would be back. As long as she insisted on staying in her house, he was going to be her roommate and guardian, sleeping in her guest room indefinitely.
They were just sitting down to eat when someone rang Brianna’s doorbell.
“Expecting company?” he asked.
Her response was a wry look that said, What do you think?
Wishing he had the handgun he kept at his apartment, he went to the front door and peered through her peephole. An attractive woman about his mom’s age stood on the front porch, holding a bunch of blue balloons and a casserole dish. Relaxing the coil of apprehension in his gut, he opened the door and greeted Brianna’s visitor.
“Oh, hi,” the brunette said, a curious dent at the top of her nose. “I’m Robyn Rosenberg, Brianna’s aunt. Are you the new daddy?”
“Uh, no. Just a friend. I’m Hunter.” He took the balloons from her and ushered her inside. “Come on in. Brianna’s in here.”
Brianna’s aunt swept in, setting the casserole pan on an end table and rushing to Brianna as soon as she spotted her on the couch. “Brianna, darling! Where’s that new baby?” Her aunt bussed her cheek, then pulled back with a frown. “Oh, look at that nasty gash on your head! Have you regained your memory yet?” She waved a hand toward the dish she’d brought and chattered on without giving Brianna a chance to answer. “I brought you a chicken casserole, but...oh, I see you have dinner already. Well, never you mind. I’ll just put it in the fridge for tomorrow. How are you feeling?”
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