The Second Chance. Catherine Mann
had a sixth sense for these things and trusted her gut.
Something was going on beyond what they’d told her.
Turning to the nurse, who was making updates on the dry-erase board in her room, Shana asked, “Excuse me? When will the doctor be back? I have questions.”
Being in limbo was scary. Her imagination was working overtime.
Just as the nurse opened her mouth to answer, a knock sounded and the door opened to admit a man. Not the doctor who’d been by to check her out when she’d woken. And even though it felt like a slew of staff had come through her room in the past half hour, she would have remembered this guy. He had an unforgettable face, movie-star quality in a rough-around-the-edges way. His light brown hair was just long enough to be mussed by a woman’s fingers, coarse hair that would rasp the skin.
A doctor? He didn’t have on a white coat. In fact, he was dressed more casually than any doctor she knew. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt that bore the wrinkles of someone who’d pulled a long shift. But his sea green eyes were what held her attention in an unbreakable grip. The colors shifted with the icy intensity of a winter sea.
What crazy thoughts to be having right now, but the tug of attraction made her feel normal on a day that was entirely too abnormal.
“I appreciate that you’re all being thorough, but I need to get in touch with my mother. I just want to call her, and no one will give me a phone.”
Or a remote control. Or a mirror. Or answers.
Okay, this was getting really weird.
Strangely, the nurse left the room. Physicians usually kept a nurse with them for exams. Although the door had been left open.
“Your mother is on her way. She should be here tomorrow.” He stopped by the bed, large hands grasping the bedrail.
Before she could help herself, she checked his ring finger and found...
A wedding band.
Disappointment cooled the attraction. So much for drooling over Mr. Cover Model. She pressed her fingers to her forehead. She should be focused on more serious matters rather than this sexy distraction.
“Which doctor are you?” She settled on the reasonable question, a thousand more zipping around in her fuzzy brain.
“You should rest,” he said evasively. “You’ve been through a lot. Your body needs to recharge.”
“Aren’t you a doctor?” She massaged her temple. “Or an occupational therapist? I can’t recall. There were so many people in the room when I woke up.”
“I’m not your doctor.”
A nervous skitter started up her spine, like something shifting behind a mist, just out of reach. “Remind me who you are?”
“My name is Chuck, and I’m going to get your doctor.” He backed up a step. “Things are...complicated.”
“Well, Chuck, I’ve had people checking me and asking questions, but no one has been answering mine.” Panic rose inside her. “Tell me what’s going on, or give me a phone to speak to my mother. Why are you keeping her from me?”
“Your mother is flying in.” He held up a calming, reassuring hand that somehow only made things worse. “She’s not available to talk yet.”
A pit formed deep in her belly. The walls bore down on her.
Nothing was as it seemed.
This place was starting to feel like a jail, except the private room full of high-tech equipment and flowers was far too posh for incarceration. She needed to get her life in order, call her mom, check in with her boss about her caseload and an upcoming court case she would be testifying in.
“Then I guess that leaves you or the doctor to tell me, because lying here waiting is most definitely stressing me out.” She swung her legs out from under the sheet.
The room spun.
Chuck rushed forward and clasped her arm. His touch was at once both steadying and unsettling.
Her gaze went back to that glinting wedding band. The spark of awareness made her feel ill. Married cheaters were the worst. Her father’s deceit had left a wake of devastation. The room started spinning again but in a different way from having wobbly legs.
Something was wrong here. Very wrong.
“I need to know what’s going on and if you won’t tell me—” she reached for the call button “—then I’m going to find someone who will.”
He released her arm. “Okay, we’ll talk. There’s no agenda here other than looking out for your health. Any question you have, I will answer honestly.”
Alarms went off in her mind. When people said words like honestly and truthfully, that usually meant they had something to lie about. “I want to know why everyone is acting so strange around me.”
“The aneurysm has affected your memory,” he said slowly, carefully.
Her memory? The weight of that word hit her hard. “How so?”
“You’ve forgotten the past five years.”
His words slammed into her, adding a push to that merry-go-round feel in her head. “Five years? Gone. And we know each other?”
Even as her world spiraled, the confusion faded as the logical answer came together—his lack of a medical coat, his familiarity...and the wedding band.
Face somber, Chuck rested his hands on her shoulders, holding her gaze with his. “We more than know each other. I’m your husband.”
* * *
The horrified expression on Shana’s face was damn near insulting. Her gaze shot to his wedding band, then back up to his eyes.
Color drained from her already pale face. She sagged back down into the hospital bed, her blond hair splashing across the pillow. He wanted to protect her, to find some way to wrestle their problems into submission. Not that he’d ever had much luck with that. He needed to put aside his own feelings and focus on her. Focus on keeping her calm—and making the most of this time to heal the rift between them.
Shana thumbed her own bare ring finger. “Married? To each other?”
“For almost four years. Your jewelry was taken off when you were admitted to the hospital.” He tapped her ring finger lightly, the softness of her skin so familiar—and seductive. Even in the middle of the worst crisis of his life.
She had a beauty and fire that rocked even a hospital gown.
“You’re my husband? I... Why... What happened? This is, um, overwhelming.”
“I realize it’s a lot to absorb.” He pulled a chair closer and sat, taking both of her hands in his. “The doctor said the memory loss could be temporary.”
“Or it could be permanent.” She didn’t pull away, but she did look at their clasped hands with confusion. “How long have we known each other?”
Those soft blue eyes turned hawkish, reading him like an X-ray machine. He nodded, clearing his throat. Determined to deliver objective facts. To not make this worse.
“We met nearly five years ago.” He watched her closely to gauge her reaction. He felt like he knew her so well, but also not at all.
How much of the essence of Shana would still exist with the memory loss?
Questions flooded his mind with too many potential futures to absorb at once.
“So my amnesia starts from right before I met you?” she said slowly, suspicion filling her eyes.
She was too astute. It seemed her private investigator skills were as honed as ever.
“It appears so,” he said, treading