by Rita Herron
Suddenly her peace was shattered by a shrill eerie voice, “You should have died. You have to die.”
Her pulse stirred, her reflexes jarred to life. Not again. No, not again. She tried to run toward the light, strained to hear the other voice, the soothing voice of the man who begged her not to leave. But pain stabbed through her limbs and she couldn’t find the other voice. It was dark. Black, suffocating emptiness tried to swallow her. She couldn’t breathe. She struggled to move, to twist her head from side to side, to free her arms from their leaden state. But something powerful closed around her neck, trapping her, pressing hard, cutting off her air. And the last sound she heard was another voice, gravelly and low, telling her she had to die.
PANIC BOLTED THROUGH GRANT the second he walked back into the room. “What the hell’s going on?” The heart monitor was going crazy. “Nurse, Doctor, hurry! Something’s wrong!” Grant squeezed Emma’s hand, his heart stopping when he felt her cold clammy skin. Emma’s oxygen had been removed, her IV stripped. Blood dotted her arm and the bedclothes, and her pillow lay on the floor.
Two nurses ran in and instantly checked her vitals.
“What happened here?” one nurse asked, looking at the torn mask and blood suspiciously. The other nurse quickly reattached the oxygen tubing, mumbling orders and statistics that set his teeth on edge.
He felt like shaking them. “Is she okay? Tell me something!”
“She’s all right,” the first nurse stated calmly. “Was anyone in here with her when this happened?” She indicated the torn mask.
Grant shook his head, his heart racing.
“We’ll get her IV reconnected in a minute,” the other nurse added.
The doctor hurried in. “Will you wait out in the hall, Mr. Wadsworth?”
“No, I’m not leaving her—”
“It’ll just be for a minute,” the first nurse said softly, coaxing him outside. “She’s all right now.”
He leaned against the wall and was surprised to see Emma’s former boss, Dan McGuire, and Martha Greer approaching.
“How’s Emma?” the housekeeper asked, her brows knitted in worry.
He shook his head, too emotionally wrought to speak.
“Did something happen?” Dan asked. “Has her condition changed, Grant?”
His breath rattled out. “The heart monitor went off. And…” The image of the bloody IV rolled through his head, nauseating him. “The doctor’s with her now.”
Martha and Dan waited silently with him while Grant willed his pulse to slow down. Each minute became an excruciating eternity.
Finally the white-haired physician opened the door. “She’s stable now,” he announced. “You can come in.” He gestured toward Grant. “Only family for now.”
“Of course.” Martha patted his arm, her cheeks ruddy. “You go on and be with her, Mr. Wadsworth. Tell her we hope she feels better soon.”
“Yeah, tell her to get better,” Dan added as they turned to leave.
“What happened?” Grant asked the doctor. His blood still roared in his ears as he made his way back to Emma’s bed. “Did Emma pull off her mask? Was she trying to wake up?”
“I don’t know,” the doctor said, studying her chart. “But her vitals are stable again.” He listened to her heart, then turned to Grant with a worried expression. “Mr. Wadsworth, it looks as if someone else removed your wife’s oxygen. I don’t think she could have torn the elastic or jerked out her IV herself. You should probably talk to that detective about it.”
“I will.” Grant dropped into the chair beside Emma and clasped her hand. Who would do such a horrible thing? The doctor left, and Grant gritted his teeth in misery. His emotions were on a roller-coaster ride from hell.
The doctor had to be wrong. Maybe Emma had been trying to come out of the coma.
But with Warner’s suspicions about Emma’s accident, Grant couldn’t take chances. He phoned the detective and reported the incident. Warner agreed to come immediately.
Grant hung up and squeezed Emma’s hand again. The minutes dragged by, but she still showed no response. “Please, Emma, please, wake up.” He closed his eyes, fighting the tears seeping from beneath his eyelids. Desperate, he tried to strike a bargain with God. If Emma woke up, if he had his life back the way it had been before the accident, he’d come home earlier, he’d be a better husband.
All the shoulds and shouldn’ts taunted him. He shouldn’t have let Emma go out that night alone. He should have gone to the drugstore, instead. And he shouldn’t have stayed at the bar with Priscilla after the business dinner, even if Priscilla had stressed the importance of discussing their client.
He drew a circle around the bandage on her cheekbone. “I need you, Emma. I love you so much. Please open your eyes.” Exhausted, he buried his head against her shoulder and gave in to his emotions, letting himself cry, feeling utterly hopeless.
Something brushed his temple. Grant’s breath caught. Afraid he’d imagined the slight movement, he hesitated before opening his eyes. There it was again. Feathery soft. So gentle.
He slowly raised his head, his heart thumping like a drumroll. Emma’s gorgeous brown eyes were staring directly at him. He muttered a thank-you to the heavens and pushed the call button for the nurse. “Hi,” he said, barely able to speak through his tight throat.
“Hello.” Emma’s strained voice sounded full of pain, as if she could hardly breathe, much less talk. She raised her slender hand to her forehead, then winced in pain.
Grant took her hand in his. “It’s about time you came back to us.” He gently kissed the tips of her fingers and forced himself to bank his emotions. “I’m so glad you’re okay, baby.”
Emma’s eyes were luminous with moisture, and a tear streamed down her battered cheek. When she finally spoke, her words rasped out, low and broken. “Where…am I?”
“You’re in the hospital, sweetheart. You had an accident, but you’re going to be all right.”
Emma pressed her fingers to the bandage on her head. She glanced at the IV, at their joined hands. Then she frowned, her eyes darkening in pain and confusion. Was she remembering the accident? She pulled her hand from his and simply stared at him, her pale cheeks alabaster in the harsh hospital lights. He didn’t understand her withdrawal or the mounting silence.
“Emma…”
Her lip quivered as she finally spoke, and fear laced her soft voice. “Who…who are you?”
Chapter Two
“Amnesia?” A wave of shock rolled through Emma as the doctor’s words penetrated the haze clouding her brain. She stared at the man who’d identified himself as her husband. The man with the deep soothing voice who had whispered to her in the darkness. His olive complexion had turned a pasty white, and his smile had disappeared the minute she’d asked his name.
“That’s right,” Dr. Turner said with a slight nod. “Retrograde amnesia.”
“But she knows her name.” Grant’s words echoed with disbelief.
“I even remember my address,” Emma said, trying to ignore the blinding pain in her temple. “It’s 3551 Summit Trail.”
The doctor adjusted his bifocals and glanced at her chart, his brow furrowed.
Grant shook his head. “No, Emma, that’s your parents’ address. We live on Kingsly.”
Dr. Turner scratched his balding head. “Amnesia’s not uncommon after a severe head injury. You have a pretty bad concussion, Mrs. Wadsworth.” He gave Grant a concerned look. “We can’t forget your wife was in a coma for four days. Recovery takes time.”
“You mean she will remember?” Grant asked, his eyes brightening.
Emma clutched the hospital sheet with one hand while draping the other across her throbbing head. She felt as if she’d just fallen into the twilight zone. Judging from the strained expression on Grant Wadsworth’s face, he wasn’t faring much better.
“I mean she could remember. It’s too early to tell,” the doctor answered quietly. “Her memory loss could be due to physi
cal or emotional trauma.”
“Are you saying I might not ever remember any more than I do now?” She rubbed her temple and winced, her vision blurring as the room spun around her.
The doctor pursed his lips. “It’s possible. We’ll have to wait and see.”
Grant turned to her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll get through this. I’m just glad you’re awake.” Emma cringed at the haunted look on his face. Although his voice sounded reassuring, she could still hear his uncertainty.
He raked a hand through his black hair, causing a wavy lock to fall across his forehead. Something about the gesture seemed vaguely familiar, but Emma’s mind remained fuzzy. Dozens of questions crowded her thoughts.
Grant’s jaw tightened. “Do you remember our baby, sweetheart?”
Fear crawled up Emma’s spine, making her voice sound weak. “Our baby?”
“Yes…Carly. Here, I’ll show you.” The lines around Grant’s eyes softened. He reached for her, pausing when she drew back. “Your locket. The one I gave you on our wedding day. It has a picture of the three of us…” His tentative smile faded. “It’s gone.”
Emma pressed her hand to her throat, her fingers curling around the edge of the hospital gown.
“It could have been lost in the accident,” Dr. Turner suggested. “But if your wife was wearing it, the doctors would have removed it when she came in. You can check with the nurses’ station to retrieve personal articles.”
Grant nodded, then frantically jerked his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a picture and handed it to Emma. Her hands shook as she studied the photo of the three of them sitting on a green floral-print sofa. Grant looked totally masculine against the country-style furniture. He’d draped an arm around her, and she cradled an infant in her arms. A bouquet of pink balloons danced in the background. But it was the tender smile on her face that squeezed her heart. She really had a child. And she was married.
But she had amnesia.
Grant folded her trembling hand in his and kissed each of her fingers, but Emma instinctively tensed. “It’ll be all right, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing her hand against his cheek. “We’ll work it out somehow.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “Do you recall anything about the accident, Mrs. Wadsworth?”
Emma shook her head. “No, what kind of accident was it?”
“A car accident. You apparently lost control and went off the road.”
“I don’t remember.” The knot of apprehension in her chest tightened. “Was anyone else involved?”
“No, you were alone.”
“Thank goodness,” Emma whispered in relief. Then she remembered the voice calling to her in her sleep, the voice that told her she should have died. “Was… was there someone else here…in my room besides you?”
“I was here and Kate came to see you,” Grant said softly.
“It was someone else, someone who told me I should have died,” Emma said. Her hand flew to her throat. “I felt like I was choking.”
Grant stroked her hair from her face. “You must have been dreaming.” But he exchanged a worried look with the doctor.
“We gave you some medication, Mrs. Wadsworth, and sometimes it plays tricks on the mind. The best thing for you to do is rest,” the doctor suggested. “Don’t push it. You need time to heal.”
“He’s right.” Grant gave her hand a squeeze. “Why don’t you try to sleep for a while?”
Maybe they were right. Maybe it had been a dream. But the voice had seemed so real, as threatening as Grant’s had been loving.
Weariness settled deep in Emma’s bones. She barely managed a nod before her eyelids closed. But the doctor’s voice penetrated the haze surrounding her, and the bliss of sleep she craved eluded her.
“Um, Mr. Wadsworth, why don’t we step outside and talk,” the doctor suggested in a low voice.
Panic rippled through her as she realized the doctor wanted to speak to this man alone. What was the doctor going to tell her…her husband? She must have muttered some kind of sound or protest, because Grant clasped her hand again and brought it to his chest where he pressed it against his shirt. She felt the steady rhythm of his heart, warm and full of life beneath her palm. Someone had tried to hurt her, or at least she’d dreamed they had. But not this man. His voice had penetrated her nightmares, had saved her. Hadn’t it? Or had she been dreaming that, too?
“I’ll be right there, Doctor,” Grant said. Emma heard the door close, then studied Grant through heavy eyelids, both relieved and disturbed that he’d stayed with her.
She laid her other hand over her throbbing head, fighting nausea. She couldn’t believe it—she was married to this stranger, had conceived and given birth to his child, and she couldn’t remember one thing about either of them. She swallowed, trying to hold back a sob, but tears seeped through her now tightly closed lids and rolled down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry, honey, it’s going to be okay,” Grant whispered, his voice tender, comforting. She opened her eyes just as he lowered his head against the side of the bed, his slumped posture at odds with his muscular build. He had to be hurting as much as she was. The scent of his musky aftershave wafted toward her. He was so close his thick hair tickled her arm. Instinctively she reached out to run her hands through the black strands, pushing them away from his wide cheekbones, but when her fingers brushed his stubbled jaw, she pulled away. She couldn’t touch this man. She didn’t even know him.
“I’m sorry…so sorry,” she whispered. “Why is this happening?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart, but you don’t need to worry about it right now. You’ve been through a lot,” he said softly. “Just close your eyes and rest.”
He moved to leave. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“I’ll be right here when you wake up.” Grant pressed a kiss to her hand. “Everything’s going to be all right now.”
Emma felt another surge of fear. She struggled to look at the man beside her, but fatigue clawed at her. Her eyelids were so heavy. She was so tired…but she needed to stay awake…to find out what was going on….
Grant slipped his hand from hers and left the room, and an emptiness swelled inside her, so deep and powerful it yanked her from the hazy lull of exhaustion. She tried to shove aside her worries, but questions reverberated through her head. She remembered her mother, her father, her sister, Kate. She should have asked Grant about them—was her mother still healthy, did Kate and her husband still live nearby? She remembered high school graduation, going to college…. Why couldn’t she remember her own husband? And her little girl?
Hot tears slid down her cheeks again and she pressed her hand to her stomach, a low sob escaping her. What was going to happen now?
She wasn’t ready to be a stranger’s wife.
WHEN GRANT STEPPED into the hallway, he saw the detective approaching, and his nerves went on alert.
“I came to check out that oxygen mask,” Warner said. “The nurses were concerned. They didn’t think Mrs. Wadsworth could have removed it and ripped out her IV like that.”
Grant leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. Confusion, fear and anger almost overwhelmed him.
“Can I talk to your wife now?” Warner asked. “I need to ask her some questions.”
The doctor explained about Emma’s memory loss. “You need to let her rest, don’t put any stress on her,” he cautioned. He excused himself to answer a page.
“Do you really think someone intentionally ran Emma off the road?” Grant asked.
“According to our witness, that’s what happened. There were two sets of tire marks. We took samples of the black paint on your wife’s car,” Warner said. “I was hoping when your wife woke up she could tell us more.”
Grant glanced at the hospital-room door in despair. So was he. Instead, Emma didn’t even remember their life together. Or that they had a child.
GRANT CUDDLED CARLY close and stroked his fin
ger along her soft creamy skin. “Oh, sweetheart, you miss Mommy, don’t you?” He propped her on his shoulder, inhaling the fresh scent of baby powder. She cried more loudly, and he changed positions, awkwardly trying to comfort her. “Honey, please give me a break. I’m not very good at this fatherhood thing yet.”
He patted her back and finally Carly’s cries quieted as she snuggled against him. “I’m going to take good care of you, you know that? And Mommy’s coming home today.” And maybe one day soon that detective will have some answers for me, he thought in frustration. He’d phoned Warner every day, but still no news. The detective assured him they were doing everything they could to find the person who’d hit Emma. But what if they never found him? And what if someone had tried to hurt Emma in the hospital?
Holding Carly so he could gaze into her face, Grant felt a surge of protectiveness that grew deeper every day. If anyone had told him three months ago he’d be talking baby talk and loving it, he would have said no way. Now he looked forward to time with his daughter, fleeting as it was. And he would get better at handling her, too.
After Carly’s birth, Emma had nagged him to spend more time at home. He’d tried to make her understand that he would, someday—when he’d earned a promotion and a raise, when he could afford to support them the way he wanted. He’d even hired a housekeeper to help Emma with the daily chores. But since the accident…
Carly whimpered, and he rubbed her back in slow circles the way he’d seen Emma do so many times. “When Mommy comes home, she’s going to be tired,” he said softly. “But we’ll take care of her.” He turned his thoughts to Emma’s recovery, desperately trying to block the anguish he felt every time he recalled Emma’s looking at him as if he was a total stranger. “We’ll get through this somehow,” he continued, talking quietly. Settling Carly in his arms, he soaked up her innocent features. Big brown doelike eyes, just like her mother’s. Tiny button nose. Perfect mouth. Carly cooed, swinging her chubby hands, and he traced his finger down her tummy, smiling gently.
