The Baby Track

by Barbara Boswell

  “Will you be here when I get back?” he murmured. He realized at that moment how lucky he was to have someone who loved him, someone who really cared. What if he’d had to face this ordeal alone and unloved, lying here in the hospital with no knowledge of his past or present, and his future a terrifying blank?

  “Of course I’ll be here,” Courtney said. She leaned down and kissed his cheek.

  Connor put his hand on her head and stroked her soft, dark hair. “I’m glad.” He felt buoyed, reassured and sought to reassure her. “Don’t worry, Courtney. Everything really is going to be all right.”

  Courtney held herself together until he was wheeled out of the room. Then she buried her face in her hands and wept.

  Eight

  The elevator doors snapped open, and Courtney, carrying Sarah strapped in her bulky car seat, stepped into the hospital corridor. A big plastic shopping bag and a canvas diaper bag dangled from her wrists, hitting her legs as she walked. Connor’s room was halfway down the hall, and when she looked up, she saw him walking toward her.

  He was wearing the blue pajamas she’d found in his suitcase and brought in for him and the belted navy silk robe that Wilson Nollier had given him. lie looked virile and fit, certainly not anybody’s idea of a patient. He waved to her, his face wreathed in smiles.

  Courtney’s breath caught in her throat. When he smiled at her in that particular way, she went all soft and weak inside. He was so handsome, so sexy, so irresistibly appealing. The intensity of her feelings staggered her. She felt lightheaded, torn between laughter and tears.

  The week since Connor’s accident had been the strangest she’d ever spent. She was living a lie, and deception had always repulsed her; she was taking risks, and she had always gone for safety and control. Her life was a complete paradox, yet this past week had been nothing short of—of wonderful.

  Connor thought she was his wife, and he wanted her with him all the time. His face lit up at the sight of her; he was loving and thoughtful and considerate toward her and the baby. They took advantage of the hospital’s liberal visiting hours to spend all day and most of the evening together. Baby Sarah stayed with them the entire time, and they took turns holding and feeding her. Courtney was convinced he enjoyed taking care of the baby as much as she did. He proudly showed her off to the nurses, calling her his daughter.

  The cause of his amnesia remained a mystery. After days of extensive testing and observation, the doctors could find no physical reason for it. Although he had suffered a concussion, there had been no discernible damage to his brain. His general memory was fine; he’d retained his social and intellectual skills and could function independently as an adult in the world. His overall health was excellent. Even his headaches had faded.

  Since brain damage had been ruled out, Dr. Ammon, the neuropsychiatrist who’d examined him, had another theory. He believed that Connor was experiencing selective amnesia, a disassociative state brought on by the blow to his head, in which unrecognized, unexpressed feelings and needs had temporarily short-circuited an overloaded consciousness.

  Courtney and Wilson Nollier had exchanged glances, their eyes glazing as Dr. Ammon continued his lengthy, jargon-filled lecture.

  “Cut the psycho-babble and explain it in English,” Nollier snapped.

  “In a disassociative state, the conscious mind goes blank,” the doctor explained, directing his remark to Courtney and ignoring Nollier’s exclamation of disdain.

  “It’s involuntary, a temporary psychological escape from an extremely stressful situation. In this case, I believe that finally adopting a child was the trigger. After five years of trying and failing to give his wife a baby, the dream was finally realized, but not through his own sexual potency. I find it extremely significant that upon regaining consciousness and being reminded of the child, Mr. McKay asked his wife if she had given birth.”

  Courtney and Nollier stared skeptically at the doctor but made no comment.

  But Dr. Ammon didn’t seem to mind their lack of input. “Given birth!” he continued enthusiastically. “Why, it’s practically a textbook case. His mind blocked out the infertility problems of the past along with all the pain and failure. In this new reality, he was able to achieve fecundity! And as he has no physical brain damage preventing it, conscious memory will return when the subconscious finally comes to terms with the painful reality.”

  “What a lot of mumbo jumbo!” Nollier hooted. “How come you headshrinkers are always so hung up on sex?”

  It wasn’t a bad theory, Courtney thought, except it was completely untrue. She had another guilt attack for allowing the doctors to believe what Nollier had told them about their alleged marriage. Yet the more she pondered the doctor’s explanation, she realized that the disassociative state of amnesia theory could fit in another context. Before the accident, Nollier and Connor bad talked about Richard Tremaine—stirring up potentially explosive feelings? Now Connor remembered nothing about either of his fathers.

  She thought he seemed happier, his cynical and bitter edge had disappeared. Could she possibly be right?

  As for Connor, he was eager to leave the hospital. He told the doctors that he was convinced his memory would return when he was living full-time with his wife and child. Every evening when visiting hours were over and he walked Courtney to the elevator, carrying the baby in his arms, he would kiss them both goodbye and say how much he wanted to go with them.

  And each night Courtney lay alone in her bed in Mrs. Mason’s house, tossing and turning restlessly, worrying about what would happen when his memory returned. With Wilson Nollier a daily visitor—the attorney continued to faithfully make the drive from D.C.—she didn’t dare reveal the truth to Connor.

  Last night, staring out the window during those long, lonely hours, Courtney forced herself to face the shameful truth. She didn’t want to tell Connor the truth and end their “marriage.” The threat of Nollier had become less a danger and more of an excuse she was using to prolong the fantasy.

  And if Connor’s memory never returned? She tried to stifle the spark of hope she felt at that prospect. It was wrong, she scolded herself, it was selfish and unfair. Connor deserved the right to decide his own fate and live his own life. But when his memory returned, she knew he would leave her and Sarah and go off on his own, back to his stupid job and his affairs with no strings. And there was no way she could stifle the sadness she felt at that prospect.

  “You’ve been shopping this morning, I see.” Connor greeted her in the hall with a smile and a quick kiss on the cheek. He took the baby and the cumbersome car seat from her, leaning down to brush his lips across Sarah’s small forehead.

  Courtney delved into the bags as they walked into his room. “There’s a cute children’s clothing shop in town. I bought a few things for Sarah.” She pulled out a dainty flowered sunsuit and matching bonnet, a yellow pinafore with duck appliques and an adorable lavender dress she’d been unable to resist. “I bought them all two sizes larger than what she’s wearing now so they’ll fit her this summer.”

  This summer. Courtney’s heart turned over. Would Connor be around this summer to see Sarah wear them?

  Probably not. She swallowed back the lump that sprang to her throat.

  Connor unwrapped the baby from the blankets and quilted snowsuit, which Courtney had bundled her in. “Don’t you think she’s a bit overdressed? She could survive an Arctic blizzard in this gear,” he remarked dryly. “It’s April, Courtney, not January. One thing I know is the correct date. The doctors and nurses mention it every time they come into the room to orient me to time.”

  The carefully recited dates had become a private joke with them. Courtney smiled. “I know it’s April 13, but there was a chill in the air this morning when I left the house. I didn’t want Sarah to catch cold.”

  Connor hoisted Sarah into his arms, smiling into the baby’s blue-eyed gaze. “You feel ten pounds lighter now, don’t you, Cookie?”

  The baby made a gu
rgling noise and Connor laughed. “She says, ‘Thanks, Dad.’ ”

  Courtney smiled. She loved watching Connor play with Sarah. He’d nicknamed her Cookie because he claimed she was sweet and soft like one. He had a propensity for nicknames, she thought, remembering how he’d called her Gypsy almost from the moment they’d met. Though she had claimed it annoyed her, she realized that she missed hearing it.

  “You look sad.” Holding the baby in the crook of one arm, Connor slipped his other hand around the nape of Courtney’s neck. “What’s the matter, Courtney?”

  She was going to have to be more careful, more on guard, Courtney admonished herself. When they were together, Connor watched her intently, seldom taking his eyes off her. He was quick to pick up the tiniest nuance in her facial expressions and inflections of her voice.

  He began to massage her nape. “I know how hard this has been on you, sweetheart. Spending all day and all evening here at the hospital with me and then getting up at night with the baby.”

  “I don’t mind, Connor,” she protested. “I’m fine, really.”

  But she wasn’t fine; she felt dangerously overemotional. And his caressing fingers were causing ripples of fire to spread from her belly to her breasts and then shoot lower, deeper. She knew she should move away from him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. What he was doing felt entirely too good.

  “You’re very brave and very strong, Courtney,” Connor said huskily. “I don’t know how I could’ve gotten through this past week without you. But it’s time to let me take over, to let me take care of you and the baby. Time to let me be a husband and father instead of a patient.”

  “Oh, Connor,” she whispered. If only it could be true! With a small, shuddery moan, she let her head rest against his strong, broad shoulder, giving into the fantasy, if only for a little while.

  He slid his hand down the length of her spine, kneaded the curve of her waist for several long, sensuous moments, then spread his hand flat across her belly. She was wearing a cherry-red rayon skirt, and the warm imprint of his palm permeated the soft material. A sharp, searing pleasure licked through her.

  “I think about you all the time,” he said softly, his mouth feathering her temple, her hair, with soft, light kisses. “I want you—to hold you and kiss you and touch you. Lying in bed here alone at night—” He laughed deeply, his voice warm and sexy, and added, “There’s one part of me that doesn’t seem to be having any trouble... remembering.”

  He suggestively pressed her against him and she gasped, feeling deliciously sandwiched between the warm pressure of his hand on her abdomen and his virile hardness behind her. Automatically she laid her hand over his.

  “I’m aching for you, gypsy eyes,” he groaned, taking her earlobe between his teeth in a teasing, sensual bite.

  She felt dizzy, disoriented, as if she’d just staggered off the Tilt-a-Whirl at the amusement park. “W-What?”

  “You have the biggest, darkest, most beautiful eyes,” he said softly, mesmerizingly, slowly moving his hand higher, gliding closer, closer to her breasts. He stopped, resting his hand just below them.

  “It’s weird, isn’t it?” he said wryly. “That I know gypsies have dark eyes but I have no knowledge of my own parents. That I know the president’s name but had to be told my own.”

  ‘ ‘The doctors said—”

  “I don’t want to talk about the doctors. I’m tired of doctors and I’m tired of this hospital. I want to get out of this place today. I want my life back.” His hand moved those crucial inches and closed over her breast. “I want my wife back.”

  Her gaze dropped to see his big hand cupping her through the cherry-red rayon blouse, and the sight was as stimulating as the feel of his fingers fondling her. With unerring accuracy, his thumb found her nipple and began to rub sensually, bringing it to a throbbing peak. Courtney squirmed against him and a whimper escaped from her lips.

  Sarah chose that moment to remind them of her presence, opening her small mouth and letting out a distinct wail. Reluctantly Connor dropped his hand. “It seems we have a little chaperone,” he said, turning his full attention to the infant. “Hmm, a damp one.”

  “I’ll change her,” Courtney said quickly, stumbling away from him to pick up the canvas diaper bag filled with baby supplies. Her hands were trembling; her knees, too.

  “Let’s take her for a walk in the hall,” she suggested after the baby was diapered and dry again. She felt too nervous and high-strung to be alone with Connor. Her whole body was aflame with longing, and her instantaneous response to him left her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

  Things were complicated enough, she lectured herself. Adding sex to this mess was as risky—and as crazy!—as tossing a match into a pool of gasoline. She needed people around. There was safety—and self-control—in a crowd.

  “Sarah wants to show the nurses her new clothes,” Courtney said in a high, strained voice quite unlike her normal tone. “We—”

  “Sarah is ready for a nap,” Connor interrupted. He laid the baby on her tummy in the portable white wicker bassinet that they kept in the corner of the room for her. Wilson Nollier had brought it in the first night of Connor’s hospitalization.

  “She’s not sleepy.” Courtney went to pick her up. But Sarah was not going to come to her rescue this time. Her big blue eyes had already closed.

  Courtney straightened and turned around. Connor was standing directly behind her, so close that they were almost touching. “She’s asleep.” Her voice shook. “I—I guess our shopping trip this morning wore her out.”

  “So it seems.” Connor smiled lazily, his voice deep and low. “And now, picking up where we left off..He slid one arm around her waist and drew her slowly to him.

  Their eyes met and held for a long, sexually charged moment. A wealth of wordless communication passed between them.

  Courtney went to him. She knew she shouldn’t, she could recite a whole list of reasons why not. But reason, along with caution and resolve, dissolved when he was looking at her in that particular way. Desire shone bright and hot in his eyes, and his wide, sexy mouth was curved into a smile that made her breathless.

  No man had ever had such power over her, and it was more than a little scary. But it was wildly exciting, as well. He pulled her close, and through the thin fabric of her skirt, she could feel the muscular hardness of his thighs pressing against her.

  “Courtney.” His warm breath stirred her hair as he lowered his head and brushed his lips across her forehead.

  Her eyes dropped closed, and she felt his feather-light kisses on her lids, on her cheeks, along the fine line of her jaw. As if in a dream, she slid her arms slowly around his neck. She stroked his neck with her fingers, running them through the sandy-brown thickness of his hair. It felt so good to hold him, to be in his arms.

  And then his mouth took hers, warm and hard and commanding. Her lips parted on impact and his tongue penetrated the moist softness of her mouth, rubbing against her tongue in a seductive, suggestive rhythm.

  Passion surged through her and she clung to him, holding him tighter, and moving wantonly against him. Her nipples were taut and sensitive and strained against the material of her clothes. She felt a shocking urge to bare her breasts and feel his hands on her, his mouth—

  Trembling with urgency, she smoothed her hands over his back, savoring the hard male feel of him. It was intoxicating to touch him like this, to know that he wanted her. As she wanted him.

  Connor drew a deep, shuddering breath and deepened the kiss, pulling her blouse from the waistband of her skirt to slip his hand under it. He cupped her breast, possessively, ardently, and caressed the tight bud of her nipple. When he thrust his thigh between hers and applied a firm, seductive pressure, she whimpered at the exquisite pleasure of it.

  “You’re so sweet,” Connor said huskily, nibbling on her neck as his hands molded her ever-closer to his hard masculine frame. ‘ ‘So sexy and passionate. And you’re mine! ” he added p
ossessively. “My darling, my wife.”

  She wanted to melt into him, she wanted to lie down on the bed with him and make love. But his words set off alarm bells in her head. She was getting too caught up in their role-playing; the edge between fantasy and reality was becoming dangerously blurred. She wanted his words to be as true as his passion.

  And they weren’t, they couldn’t be. She was most certainly not his wife. The real Connor McKay didn’t want a wife; he was allergic to commitment. And when his memory returned and he was faced with these days of himself as a loving, caring husband and father, he would not call her his darling. He would probably try to sue her for fraud!

  Nervously Courtney pulled herself out of his arms. She turned her back to him as she readjusted her clothes with trembling hands. “Connor, I—we— ”

  “It’s all right, sweetheart.” He cupped her shoulders with his big hands and dropped a lingering kiss on the nape of her neck. “I know this isn’t the time or place. I got a little carried away.” He folded his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him, holding her tight. “You have that effect on me, Courtney. All my instincts tell me that you always have. And always will, my love.”

  His words, so loving and sexy, warmed her and made her sigh. She permitted herself the luxury of remaining in his arms for a few more blissful moments before reluctantly moving away from him.

  “I bought something else while I was in town,” she said with a little too much forced gaiety. She was desperate to refocus her thoughts on something other than how much she wanted to be in his arms.

  She pulled a game of checkers from the bag. “Since you turned out to be such a card shark and can beat me at every game, I thought we’d try something else, something I can win. It’s only fair to warn you that I was a notorious check-ers-shark when I was a kid.”

  The occupational therapist had given Connor a deck of cards. He’d retained complete memory—and playing skills—of countless card games that he couldn’t remember learning. He and Courtney often played cards during their visits, and he won each game soundly.