Forget Me Not (5 page)

He was staring at the house like he'd never seen it before. How strange not to recognize his home, she thought.

Mallory leaned over the seat and peered at his profile. "You don't remember," she guessed.

"No," he admitted. "But I like it. Especially the flowers."

Helen blinked. She wouldn't have guessed Gabe would say something like that. He'd never slowed down long enough to notice things like flowers. She pushed open her door and jumped out.

Today she'd dressed in a denim skirt and a peach top. Warm sand crept into her sandals as she rounded the back of the car to fetch Gabe's stuff from the trunk.

The hospital had sent him off with a bag of souvenirs, including a business card from someone at the Defense Intelligence Agency. She'd dropped his prescriptions into the bag, and he'd left the hospital with just a few meager possessions.

Closing the trunk, she hurried to help Gabe to his feet, but Mallory was already putting her shoulder under his arm.

Helen paused at the picture they presented. She'd never seen Gabe lean on anyone, let alone a teenager.

Gabe could hear a dog barking frantically inside. It was a welcoming sound, almost as welcoming as the flowers waving in the wind. Helen hurried up the steps ahead of them, her sandals slapping against the soles of her feet. He found himself admiring her shapely legs and marveling that he was married.

"You got us a puppy before you left," Mallory explained. "You were going to train her to behave, but you never had time, so she's still a little wild."

Helen cracked open the door and a nose appeared. The dog pushed its way forcibly through the aperture and broke free. Gabe saw it was a yellow Lab as it scrabbled down the stairs and launched itself at him.

"Whoa!" he cried, catching himself from tumbling down the steps. "Hello there."

"Pris, down!" Helen scolded.

Mallory tried to pry the dog off. Gabe laughed under the onslaught of the dog's wet tongue. He'd never experienced a more joyous reunion in his life. He loved it.

"Pris!" Helen called again, her tone worried.

Mallory caught hold of the dog's collar and hauled it off. "Sorry," she said, looking contrite.

"That's okay." Gabe patted the dog, who now sat on its haunches grinning at him. "Good boy."

"It's a girl," Mallory said. "Her name's Priscilla. We call her Prissy for short, but you never liked that."

"Maybe I thought the dog would get a complex," Gabe explained.

"Yeah," said Mallory with an airy laugh.

He looked up at the front door of his house, just a few steps away. Nothing about it looked familiar to him. But there was Helen, standing in the doorway, clutching his bag. Looking into her gold-brown eyes made his pulse accelerate. He found her riveting, right down to the way she breathed. He might not be a SEAL ever again, but his wife was a hell of a catch. Because of her, he could still keep his head up.

She shepherded the dog inside, and Gabe continued his climb. He was shaking with fatigue by the time he stepped through the door. As he paused to catch his breath, something familiar assailed him, easing his sense of disorientation.

It wasn't the appearance of the place; it was the way it smelled. He took a deep breath, scenting wooden beams and sea salt and Helen's disturbingly familiar fragrance. She was moving around in the kitchen, casting him quick little glances, but giving him time to get his bearings.

Mallory squeezed around him and shut the door. "Anything?" she asked, peering up at him.

He met her gaze and smiled. The spray of freckles across her nose made her look like a pixie—or maybe it was the short haircut, curving to fit the shape of her head. "It smells good," he told her, glancing around.

The dog raced deeper into the house and came back, barking.

The foyer was lined with marble tiles. A tall plant stood on his right, taking in sunlight from the window by the door. He moved left, into the great room.

The ceiling soared upward to a point, supported by wooden beams. Two lazy fans whirled over a combination living room-dining room. The furniture was white pine, with floral cushions in blue, yellow, and pink. Windows dominated the rear and side walls, offering a shinning view of sand and sea grass and a denim-colored ocean tumbling onto shore a hundred yards away.

The view uplifted him. He'd always thought of the Special Operations Building as his home, but this was definitely nicer, making it a pleasure to move in. In this peaceful place he would find the missing pieces of his memories, just as Sebastian had predicted. His family would help him.

His gaze drifted toward the kitchen, only to be arrested by Helen's gaze as she regarded him over the rim of her glass.

Or would they?

Her gaze was decidedly watchful and not as warm as he would have liked. "Are you thirsty?" she asked, moving over to the counter to pour him some lemonade.

He couldn't fault her on her hospitality. She'd been patient and concerned, but he sensed an invisible barrier that was meant to keep him at a distance. The barrier worried him. He would need her support if he was going to make it through this.

"Please," he said, moving toward her. She had left his hospital bag on the breakfast bar. He slid onto one of the tall stools and rummaged through his stuff, pulling out the baby cactus in a plastic cup, a gift from the hospital staff.

Mallory tossed a toy to me dog, who ran back and form in a frenzy of joy.

Gabe put the cactus down and examined the kitchen. The cabinets were a light pine with Formica countertops in soft gray. A window over the sink gave a view of the wildflowers in the front yard. A door by the refrigerator gave access to the balcony.

"This place is really nice," he said, amazed that he could have forgotten it. Knowing how dedicated to the team he'd been, he must have worked too much. Mallory had already blamed the dog's exuberance on the fact that be hadn't made time to train her.

Helen placed his lemonade on the breakfast bar within his reach. He took note of the fact that she hadn't handed it to him. Helen didn't want to touch him. He heaved an inward sigh. So, it was like that then, was it? He knew his life couldn't be as good as it looked.

"You don't want me here, do you?" he challenged.

Her eyes flared with surprise, and she took a quick step backward.

He studied her, wishing he could read her mind, but the fact that she held her tongue was confirmation enough. Suddenly he felt weary and defeated all over again. He didn't have the patience to play games, either. "Look," he said, rubbing his forehead as he propped an elbow on the counter, "why don't you tell me a little about our situation? You seem kind of... reserved."

Helen's amber-brown gaze shifted to Mallory, who'd flopped down on the couch and was watching them. "Mal, take Priscilla for a walk, will you?" she suggested. The Lab was still running amok, giving off intermittent barks.

Mallory rolled her eyes. "Fine," she groused, coming to her feet. "C'mon, Prissy," she called. "Let's go for a walk."

The Lab bounded after her. Seconds later the door thudded shut, and they were left alone.

Helen's heart pounded. This was it She was going to tell Gabe what she'd decided. Apparently, he could sense something in the air; he'd always been terribly astute. She kept the breakfast bar between them, not trusting herself to see it all the way through. Just sitting there, he appealed to her— something about that wounded-hero look did it to her. She didn't know about the timing of this, but he'd probably realize something was up when she told him he was sleeping in the study.

"Okay," she said, letting out a shaky breath. "You've been gone a long time," she said. "A whole year. We were led to believe you were dead."

She looked for a reaction from him. Nothing. He held still as if he were part of the chair, his yellow-green eyes watchful.

She twisted her hands together. "It wasn't like we were happy before you left, Gabe. We never did anything together. It was all about work for you. Mal and I, we just tiptoed around you; trying not to get in the way." She paused, waiting for something from him.

Still nothing.

She pushed ahead. "Things changed while you were gone. I got a new job, and I like what I do. I didn't realize before that I could do it on my own. But now I know, and... and I think our marriage was a mistake."

He blinked at the word "mistake," and she had to wonder if he felt some kind of response to it, because it was impossible to tell from his expression. "You've found someone else?" he inquired softly.

Was that disappointment she heard in his voice or jealousy?

"No," she said definitively. As if another man could take Gabe's place. "God, no." She was off men for a long time to come.

A thick silence settled between them. Helen swallowed hard. Gabe was staring at her in that same way that used to make her weak in the knees and hot in the face. It was having a similar effect now. She wished he would say something to break the tension.

"So, what, you want me to walk out right now?" he asked. This time there was an edge to his tone that betrayed some irritation.

"Of course not," she reassured him, wiping the sweat surreptitiously off her palms. "You're more than welcome to stay here until your memory comes back. I just—you know—thought I should explain why you're sleeping in the study and not... "
in my bed.
She couldn't seem to spit the words out.

His gaze slid down the length o£her body. She experienced a pinpricking sensation clear down to her toes. It was obvious he was mentally undressing her. When he raised his eyes to hers, there was no mistaking the regret in them. "I see," he said. "So, you're saying you want to separate just as soon as I'm well enough to take care of myself." He said this with self-directed mockery.

Helen wet her dry lips. When he put it like that, it made her seem so coldhearted. "There's no hurry," she insisted. "It's important to me that you recover fully. I mean, being a SEAL is your life, and I want you to have your life back."

Resentment flickered in his gold-green eyes. She knew the signs of his volatile temper, and she barely caught herself from rushing in to beat down the flames. His temper was his own problem. She didn't need to wrestle with it anymore. "I'm sorry," she added, forcing her chin up. "I didn't mean for things to end up this way."

And before her courage could fail her, she quietly excused herself, making a dignified retreat to her bedroom, where she leaned against the door and stood there, quaking. She waited for the relief to wash over her. She'd done it: she'd given Gabe the ultimatum. Her best friend Leila would be proud of her.

Why, she wondered, wasn't she glad that part was over?

With the feeling that he'd-taken a bullet in the gut, Gabe sat stunned on the kitchen stool. Bit by bit, his surprise shattered, sending shards of hurt under his skin and straight into his heart. This was why he'd never gotten close to anyone. Helen wielded a terrible power over him. He could barely breathe, his chest ached so much.

He tried to distance himself from the emotion. Why should he care what she thought? He'd just met the woman, as far as he remembered. He didn't know the first thing about her—what her favorite food was, what kind of music she listened to, hobbies, nothing. So what difference did it make that she considered their relationship over?

At me same time, he knew the answer: without her, he was even less than a former SEAL. He was a washed-up warrior, too beaten up to be recycled.

He gazed into his lemonade with the feeling that he was drowning. Then irritation kicked in and he wrenched his gaze upward. God damn it, he knew he wasn't lucky enough to have a wife like her just waiting for him to come home.

He couldn't blame her for not wanting him. He'd seen himself in the mirror; he knew what he looked like. Only that wasn't the reason she was calling it quits. She'd accused him of living his life for his team, of not making time for his family. Supposedly it had nothing to do with his state of mind now, or his disfigured body. Yeah, right.

He should never have married in the first place. He knew the kind of man he was; the kind of ruthless drive he had to excel. He even knew why he worked so hard—to make up for all those years he' d been a drain on the taxpayer's money. Given his family history, he knew he'd make a lousy husband and an even lousier father.

But then he'd met Helen, and apparently she was too much woman to let go of. So he'd compromised his private oath and married her. He could have written the end of the story himself.

And now who was sorrier for his neglect? He was. She'd discovered that her life was better without him. And he needed her like a ship needed an anchor.

Anger flared in him, a welcome emotion compared to the pain that came before. Gabe rose on shaky knees to prowl around the kitchen. A sense of suffocation had him heading for the door. He needed fresh air to clear his head so he could think of a strategy.

He let himself out, squinting as sunlight bounced into his eyes. A balmy breeze ruffled his overlong hair as he moved down the steps. At the same time, he was struck by a sudden sense of vulnerability that had him scanning the quiet street for hidden dangers. But soon the mere act of walking upright took his mind off his uneasiness. He wasn't used to freedom—that was all.

Spying Mallory and the dog down at the beach, he moved painstakingly in their direction. As his tennis shoes filled with sand, he kicked them off and plodded on, barefoot.

Moving along the chain-linked fence, he noted the signs posted at intervals, warning:
PROPERTY OF THE U.S. NAVY. ALL UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL KEEP OUT.

He suffered the same sense of inadequacy he'd lived with as a child. Being disabled, he could still get on base, but he wasn't authorized to set foot in Special Ops now, not without an invitation. He was an outsider, burdened with the dreadful possibility that he'd betrayed his country. As the DIA agent had implied the other day, why else would a SEAL lose his memory, except to forget the ignominious moment he'd disgraced himself?

Fuck, no. He shook his head in powerful denial. No matter what, he wouldn't have shared government secrets. He'd been trained to withstand torture, to keep silent.