Father Found. Muriel Jensen
threw her arms around him, laughing and crying simultaneously. “I remembered something!”
“That’s wonderful.” From somewhere he found the enthusiasm to force into his voice. “It’ll all come back in no time.”
She drew away from him, a frown replacing the smile. “But that’s so little. No face, no last name, just hair and a hand raised in the air.”
He rubbed her shoulder gently. “It is just a little, but if you don’t try to force it, it’ll come when you’re ready.”
She made a face at him. “I’m ready now.”
That was so her. “Your heart is, but your mind apparently isn’t. Let it take the time it needs.”
She slumped unhappily, absently patting the baby as though certain it must share her disappointment. If he hadn’t loved her before, that gesture would have done it for him.
“Am I usually patient?” she asked
“Yes,” he replied. “You teach little children. You have boundless patience.”
“Am I patient with you?”
“You don’t have to be. I’m the perfect husband.” He said it with a straight face.
He thought it might bring a smile to her troubled expression, but it brought a deeper seriousness instead. She studied him closely and he could almost hear her trying to remember something…anything.
“Are you patient with me?” she asked finally.
“Yes. I’m the perfect husband.” He couldn’t deliver that line twice without cracking a smile.
He was relieved when it finally made her smile.
“Okay, you are very patient with me, though we’re basically very different. And I try—”
“How are we different?” she interrupted.
He had to be grateful for at least one question that was easy to answer. “I had a childhood that forced me to grow up with few illusions,” he said. “And then I was a cop, then a soldier and then a spy. I saw the underside and the back of a lot of things that don’t even look good from the front. I’m cynical and hard-nosed with a real preference for things done my way.”
She looked genuinely puzzled. “I haven’t gotten that impression at all. Except for the things-done-your-way part.” She added the last with a grin.
“I’ve been on my best behavior.” That was true. If she caught a glimpse of the real Bram Bishop, it might trigger the return of her memory sooner rather than later and he’d be dead in the water. “You, however, are gentle and kind, trusting, optimistic, a Pollyanna for the new millennium.”
She winced. “It’s generous of you to exaggerate my good qualities. I’m sure I have some bad habits.”
He shrugged. “You love to argue with me.”
That seemed to deepen her amusement. “Maybe that’s a good quality, too. Maybe it’s a way to defend myself against your need to control. Even if I love you, maybe I don’t want to be taken over by you.”
“I don’t want to take you over,” he insisted. “I just want to keep you safe and happy.”
“Maybe what you want for me isn’t the same thing I want for myself.”
She knew that was it. She saw it in his face, though he averted it instantly to retrieve the afghan that had fallen to the floor when she’d sat up. They were at odds somehow, in some way he didn’t seem to want to explain at this point in time.
She wished she knew what it was.
“All I want for you,” he said gently, pushing her back to the pillow and covering her again, “is for you to stay safe and deliver a healthy baby while remaining healthy yourself.”
“And what do you want for you?” she asked.
He patted her cheek and then her tummy. “I’ve got it right here. Rest while I finish the dishes.”
With his touch lingering on her, she closed her eyes, trying to remember what the obstacle was between them.
Whatever it was, she’d be willing to bet that it was a problem he had with her and not the other way around. She couldn’t remember their past together, but she was falling in love all over again.
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