Her Forgotten Husband. Anne Ha
raked his fingers through his dark brown hair. “You’re not still angry?”
Angry? Now there was a question that didn’t make sense! She had no reason to be angry. The only thing bothering her was the pounding ache in her head. It grew worse with every passing second.
Raising a hand to massage her temple, she drew back when her fingers encountered soft gauze. A bandage! Amazed, she gingerly traced the gauze, wincing at a shaft of pain.
“You all right?” the stranger asked.
“My head hurts,” she said, and shut her eyes. The darkness brought relief, wrapping her in its safe cocoon.
“I’m sure it does, after the wallop you gave it. You’ve had a concussion, you know.”
She frowned, eyes still closed. “I have?”
“Two days ago. Your car went off that nasty curve on Humphrey Boulevard. It hit a tree, but you were lucky—just suffered the concussion and a few cuts and bruises.”
She couldn’t bring herself to reply. It was easier to lie still between the starched white hospital sheets, to let the blankness ease the pain.
Briefly the stranger touched her shoulder, his fingers warming her skin. It felt nice, she thought, a bit guiltily. She heard him move, knew he stood over the bed. Heat emanated from his body, and she breathed in the spicy male scent of him. It wasn’t at all familiar, but it was oddly compelling.
“I’ll tell the doctor you’re awake,” he said.
But he didn’t leave, and she had the feeling he watched her intently.
After a moment he kissed her forehead, the contact light and fleeting. “I’m glad you’re all right, Sam. If I’d lost you…”
She opened her eyes, caught by one word. “Sam?”
He straightened, giving her a tired smile. “Sorry. I meant to say Samantha. I’ll get used to it someday.”
“Samantha,” she echoed. Confusion and anxiety rose inside her. Who in the world was Samantha?
Not her, surely. She didn’t feel like a Samantha. She felt like a…like a…
Nothing came to mind. No name seemed to fit.
Meeting the stranger’s expectant gaze, she struggled not to show her distress. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t speak. She felt lost, adrift.
Closing her eyes again, she tried to make sense of her situation. She knew she lay in a hospital room, could recognize its antiseptic smells. She knew the prickling discomfort in her left arm was caused by an IV needle, that the humming sound came from fluorescent lights.
But that was where it stopped. She didn’t know who she was. Or where she lived or how old she was or what kind of car she drove.
Oh, good Lord, she thought. She didn’t even know if she had any family or what she did for a living…
The man cleared his throat, interrupting her panic attack. “By the way,” he said, his voice soft. “The baby is fine.”
At first she thought she hadn’t heard him correctly. She swallowed and stared up at him, unable to keep the bewilderment from her face. “The, uh, baby?”
Could she be a mother? It didn’t seem possible. She had absolutely no recollection of changing diapers or of getting up for nighttime feedings. No recollection of childbirth.
“Yes,” the stranger answered. “The doctor said the accident had no ill effects.”
She grimaced, still not sure she had a baby. But maybe she would remember him—or was it her?— and would feel overjoyed it hadn’t been hurt. In the meantime all she could do was smile and try to think of something to say.
“Thank goodness for car seats!” she managed.
The man didn’t smile back. In fact, he looked decidedly concerned. His brows lowered and his slate gray eyes narrowed.
Darn it. Obviously she hadn’t been maternal enough. She tried again. “Thanks for the reassurance. I feel so much better knowing my baby is okay. I’m really looking forward to holding…it…in my arms again.”
His frown deepened. “Samantha…”
What did he want from her? So what if she couldn’t remember the gender of her child? A few seconds ago she hadn’t even known she had a baby, and now he was trying to hold her to some unreachable maternal ideal.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped.
He sat back down on the chair, holding her hand while he studied her face. She felt as if he were trying to gaze into her soul. And he didn’t seem pleased by what he saw.
“Samantha,” he said, “there’s something you should know.” He paused, appearing to choose his words with care. “The baby wasn’t in a car seat.”
“What?” she blurted. He was lying. He had to be. She couldn’t have been so irresponsible! “Look, mister, I don’t know what bee flew into your bonnet today, but I do not appreciate your accusations of neglect. Of course I put my child in a car seat!”
He shook his head slowly, those watchful gray eyes still on her.
“And before you make any more snide comments on my parenting,” she added, “go out and try it yourself. It’s not as easy as it looks.”
In response to her bravado, an annoying grin tugged at the corners of his mouth—his very attractive, sensuous mouth.
She scowled, unable to see what he found so amusing.
“Samantha,” he said, “the baby wasn’t in a car seat because it hasn’t been born yet.”
She was so relieved she hadn’t been a neglectful mother that the full import of his words didn’t immediately sink in.
When it did, she glanced down at her stomach, then slowly reached out to feel it. Through the sheet, she cupped her hand around the slight curve of her abdomen. Was that a baby? Or just her body’s normal shape? She had no way of knowing.
“I’m pregnant?” she asked. She didn’t feel particularly pregnant.
He nodded.
“Are you sure?”
“Very.”
Her gaze returned to her belly. He sounded adamant. Too adamant not to be right.
She felt a sudden wave of tenderness, thinking a new life grew within her. She was fiercely glad her baby hadn’t been harmed in the crash. “I haven’t been this way for long, have I?”
“No, not that long.”
She couldn’t take her eyes off her stomach. A baby! How wonderful and strange.
Then an awkward thought occurred to her. She didn’t know how to ask at first, but then realized she didn’t need to ask at all. Instead, she looked down at the fingers of her left hand. Yes, she wore a wedding ring.
The stranger followed her gaze. “I slipped it back on this morning,” he said, as if it was a confession.
She peered at the simple gold band. “I’m married.” Her voice was full of wonder.
Still holding her other hand, he gave it a squeeze. “It certainly appears that way.”
The band was delicate and nicely proportioned, she noted, but it wasn’t in any way familiar. It didn’t spark any memories. “I’m married,” she said again.
“Yes.”
She sighed. “That’s a relief. I don’t think I’d like to be a single mother…. You wouldn’t, er, happen to know who my husband is, would you?”
“As