Their Christmas Miracle. Barbara Wallace
sensation as the liquor went down his throat.
“McKringle went upstairs to check on Rosalind. I said I would check on you. Conversation go okay?”
“She needs more proof before she’ll believe me,” Thomas told him.
“Smart decision.”
Yeah, it was, and, as she’d said, one he would’ve made himself. Once she read her history, he had no doubt Rosalind would realize he was telling the truth.
Thomas took another sip. “I can’t believe it, Linus.” He might as well be walking in a dream. “How many times did you talk with McDermott about his factory? And she was right down the road.” Dear God... “I didn’t want to stop for dinner.” If not for Linus’s insistence, he would never have learned that Rosie had survived. When he thought how close the miss had been, he felt sick.
“How did she get here? Her car was on the West Coast.” Linus asked. “Did she say? McKringle wouldn’t answer my questions.”
“She doesn’t know,” Thomas said. “She doesn’t remember anything prior to meeting McKringle on the motorway.”
That included him. Thomas wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. A bit of both, he decided.
So many nights he’d lain awake blaming himself for the accident. She wouldn’t have been at the country house if I hadn’t been such a muleheaded fool.
“And now she’ll be home for Christmas.” He said the words out loud as much for reassurance as anything. “Maddie’s going to be thrilled.”
“What about you?” Linus asked.
That was a silly question. “Of course I’m happy. Don’t be daft.” He drained the last of his drink in one final swallow. McKringle hadn’t undersold; the Scotch was superior.
“I know you’re happy, Thommy-boy.” Thomas winced. He loathed his childhood nickname. “Anyone who saw your face when she walked in would know.”
Thomas still couldn’t believe the moment was real. That an hour ago he’d been a widower, and with one blink of an eye, his family was returned. It was a dream come true.
Making Linus’s question all the more strange. “If you don’t mean happy my wife’s alive, then what do you mean?” he asked.
His brother leaned against a table edge, bringing them eye to eye. It was rare for the youngest Collier to be serious, so the sober expression made Thomas’s pulse pick up. “Are you going to tell her the entire circumstances?” he asked.
“What am I supposed to say? By the way, did I mention I was a lousy husband and that’s the reason you were driving around up north in the first place?”
“You weren’t a lousy—”
But Thomas held up a hand. He knew at whose feet the blame lay.
“We’ve only just got her back, Linus. I’m not ready to lose her again.”
He looked down at his empty glass at the residual ring lining the bottom. Brown could have so many shades to it, he thought. Amber like the Scotch. Grayish brown like mud. Rosalind’s eyes were chocolate with flecks of gold. Darkness dappled with light.
He’d missed those eyes.
“It’s almost Christmas,” he said to his brother. “Would it be so wrong to give Maddie a few weeks of family peace?”
“You’re staying quiet for Maddie’s sake, are you?”
“Okay, for both our sakes,” Thomas replied, his cheeks hot. He should have known Linus would call him on the excuse. “Is that so wrong?”
“No.” His brother shook his head. “No, it isn’t.”
Eventually, Rosalind would remember everything. She’d have to remember, wouldn’t she? McKringle said the doctors were optimistic as to the outcome.
When she did, Thomas would be there to fill in the blanks, warts and all, including the fact she’d gone to the cottage to contemplate their marriage’s future.
In the meantime, the two of them could spend the next few weeks creating new memories. Maybe, with luck, he could show Rosalind that he was willing to change. That he was willing to do whatever it took to make her and Maddie happy again.
Then, maybe, just maybe when Rosalind did remember the past, the problems they’d had wouldn’t matter.
After all, as today proved, bigger miracles had happened.
When Thomas had said he’d give her proof, he hadn’t been kidding. For the next few mornings packages of documents arrived by email. There were articles. Photographs. A copy of their marriage certificate and her birth certificate. In fact, so much information arrived in such a short time, Rosalind wondered if Thomas had a team of employees working with him. Of course, she did her own research too, since she now had names to search online.
For starters Thomas Collier, she learned, was the Collier Soap Company. Part of it, at least. He became president after the death of his father, Preston. Preston had been a busy man, marrying three times and producing Thomas, his brother, Linus, and a half sister, Susan.
When she read about Thomas online, she found herself unsurprised that he was a successful executive. She’d known when she saw him in the pub that he wasn’t an average man. Interestingly, her impression had had little to do with his expensive suit and onyx cuff links.
He would look exceptional in an orange jumpsuit. It was the way he carried himself when he walked across the room. Tall and regal, the way a man who owned the room would walk.
How on earth had she managed to marry him? From what she could tell, she was the daughter of world-renowned geologists. You couldn’t get more removed from Collier’s world. When she asked, Thomas said they met at university. Hard to believe a man like him would have given her a second glance. But he had. She saw the wedding photos that proved it.
By the end the week, she knew enough of her life story to believe Thomas even if she still didn’t remember a thing. Problem was, being trapped in that nebulous knowing-not-knowing zone was worse than not knowing anything at all. Facts and figures answered her questions, but they couldn’t provide the assurance her gut needed to fully commit.
Except, that was, for Maddie. Every time she saw a photo of the little girl, her heart swelled with longing. Maybe because she hated to see such an adorable creature going without a mother. The reason why, however, didn’t matter. If she went back to London with Thomas, it would be to give that little girl her mother back.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said to Chris and Jessica one night after the dinner rush. “How do I go back and be some man’s wife when I can’t remember him?”
The two of them hadn’t talked again since that night. Having agreed to give her space, Thomas limited his contact to the emails accompanying his daily document delivery. While the notes were friendly and upbeat, often filled with anecdotes relating to that day’s documents, she could read between the lines his eagerness to have her home. Especially when he included the words “We miss you” in the text.
“Who says you have to?” Jessica replied. “Just because you know your name and identity doesn’t mean you have to immediately rush back and start living your former life. You wouldn’t rush a baby into walking, would you?”
“No.” Sighing, she rested her forehead against the heels of her palms. “If only I could remember him. Reading those papers is like reading a book about someone else. I know facts and dates, but I don’t feel real. Does that make sense?”
“You need to give yourself time, sweetheart.” Jessica reached across the table and clasped Rosalind’s hand between her two pudgy ones. For a woman who spent her days working in a kitchen, her skin was soft as silk—Collier’s lavender skin cream. Thomas was everywhere, Rosalind thought. “Eventually, your heart