Forgotten Lullaby (14 page)

He slipped from the room with a whispered good-night. Emma changed into a gown and crawled under the covers. The empty room closed around her like a tomb, draining the life and energy from her, sucking her into a pain-filled state of semi-sleep. She'd never felt more bereft and alone in her life.

 

“C
ARLY, YOU'RE AN ANGEL
,” Grant whispered. She snuggled into his arms, her tiny lips parting slightly as he slipped the bottle from her mouth. One chubby hand curled against his chest, and his protective instincts mushroomed. He hugged her to him, pressing his face to hers and inhaling the scent of baby powder and innocence, his anxiety over the danger surrounding Emma heightening his senses.

“I love you, Carly.” He carried her through the darkened nursery to her crib. For an instant when he lay her down, she opened her eyes and stared at him, the trust and adoration so strong his chest swelled and tears filled his eyes. Then her mouth curved into a smile, and he swallowed, watching with an awestruck love as she curled her fist beside her curly blond hair and drifted back to sleep.

At least his daughter was sleeping peacefully, he thought, frustration mounting again. He could hear Emma in her bedroom, tossing and turning, and had to fight his primitive urge to go in and cradle her to his chest and hold her all night. But he'd promised he wouldn't touch her, not unless she asked, and earning her trust and love was more important than his physical needs. Then he heard a whimper and he turned, blinded by the light coming from the opened doorway. Emma's sweet scent drifted toward him, making him yearn to hold her.

“Grant?” Emma's voice came from the shadowed doorway.

“Yeah, I'm here.” Her whispered sigh made his stomach clench. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head, the golden strands of her hair swishing on her shoulders, her slender body haloed in the moonlight. “I can't sleep,” she murmured.

He moved slowly toward her, his hand outstretched, his arms open. She fell into them and clung to him. He guided her back to bed and helped her climb beneath the thick comforter. Unspoken needs materialized, stronger than the distance that separated them, stronger than the forgotten vows and promises of a lifetime. He removed his shoes, then stretched out on the bed beside her and took her in his arms. The minute she curled into him, her head tucked into the crook of his shoulder, he brushed a whisper of a kiss on the top of her head.

“Stay with me tonight,” she said in a sleepy whisper.

“I will, sweetheart.” His throat was thick with emotion. He hugged her to him, pulling her into the safety of his embrace, and he heard a soft sigh of contentment escape her lips. Then he closed his eyes, dreaming of the day he could do more than hold her, imagining strip
ping her gown and dropping hungry kisses all over her body. She was warm and as sweetly fragrant as a flower garden, as heady as the finest wine, and he wanted to devour every tantalizing inch of her.

But for now, lying beside her, holding her in his arms, and knowing that she'd taken a giant step toward trusting him was enough to keep him content through the night.

 

E
MMA WOKE UP
, feeling vaguely content and safe in spite of the lingering memories of the incident in the parking lot. When she opened her eyes, she saw Grant lying beside her. She felt comforted because he was there. Comforted, but embarrassed. The night before had been filled with nightmares. Then she'd found Grant in Carly's room, bent over her crib, murmuring sweet loving words, and she'd asked him to come to bed with her.

Peeking lower, she realized he'd removed his clothes except for his boxers. His chest was bare, and at the sight of his broad muscled shoulders, heat curled through her.

She ran her hand over his chest, reveling in the powerful muscles beneath her fingers. His scent invaded her senses, reviving desires she'd thought lost with her past. His lips parted slightly in his sleep and he mumbled something, then rolled to his side and slung his arm across her, his hand groping downward, finally resting on her hip. He groaned, a happy catlike sound, then smiled.

She closed her eyes, unable to fight the lustful sensations stirring in her abdomen as his leg brushed hers and his breath feathered against her cheek. When she looked at him again, she saw he was awake and staring
at her, the early-morning sunlight flickering off cheekbones, his blue eyes filled with the sleepy haze of sensual awareness.

“Hi,” he said in a husky voice.

“Good morning,” Emma murmured.

He stared at her for a long time, his gaze intense. Then he pulled her close, and she snuggled against his chest. It felt incredibly sweet to lie with him, a little slice of heaven early in the morning.

“This feels nice,” Grant said softly, his thumb caressing her shoulder. “I've missed mornings like this.”

She nodded against him, loving the feel of his heart beating against her cheek.

“I've missed holding you, Emma.”

“I'm glad you're here,” she whispered, and closed her eyes, savoring the tenderness of the moment.

But the phone jangled and Grant groaned, giving her a look of regret as he reached for it. When she heard him say the detective's name, she headed for the shower. Desperate to gain control, she turned on the hot water and stepped under the showerhead, the bright bathroom light illuminating the scar on her thigh and bringing back reality. Even if she remembered her marriage to Grant, she was still too scarred to become intimate with him. He would be expecting the same woman he had married, the flawless face and body, not the scarred, ugly—

“Emma, are you all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine,” she said, stepping out of the shower and jerking a towel around her. “I'll be out in a minute.”

“I'll make some coffee.”

By the time she combed her damp hair and dressed in a pair of blue sweatpants and a powder-blue shell
sweater, Grant had breakfast and coffee ready. She avoided his gaze as she slid into her chair.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked.

“Yes, and you?”

“Better than I have in a while,” he admitted with a sexy smile.

She couldn't help but smile back at his mischievous honest reaction. “I'm glad. I know this is hard on you.”

His smile faded slightly. “We're going to get through this, Emma.”

She nodded, slicing into the steaming omelet. “Is Carly still sleeping?”

As if on cue, they heard the sound of Carly's early-morning gurgling and they both laughed. “I'll get her,” Grant said. “She can have breakfast with us.”

Like a normal family, Emma thought, as he came back and propped her in the infant seat between them.

“Hi, sweetie.” She grabbed Carly's finger. “So you're hungry, too, huh? Did you smell Daddy's yummy eggs?”

Grant grinned rakishly and kissed Carly's forehead, then Emma's. “Thanks, Emma.”

She looked at him. “For what?”

“For letting me hold you last night.”

Emma nodded, the memory of his husky voice lingering between them during the rest of the morning. The sweet tenderness they'd shared during the night had created a bond that neither seemed to want to break.

“What did Warner say earlier?” Emma asked after they'd settled Carly on a blanket on the floor.

“Well, no witnesses to the shooting.” He paused. “And Pete denies owning a gun.”

A knock sounded at the front door and Martha bustled in. “Good morning, folks. I brought you some
peach pie.” She placed a plastic container on the kitchen counter. “Dan said to send his best. He wants to stop by again and see you, Emma.”

“Sure, I'd like that,” Emma said.

“Said he wonders if you might want to come back to work sometime.”

“I don't know. I'm certainly not ready right now.”

“Emma's going to stay home with Carly,” Grant said, his voice level. “We discussed it before you quit, Emma.”

Emma gritted her teeth in frustration, wishing there weren't so many holes in her life. Martha stopped to talk to Carly for a few moments, then tweaked her toes. “I'm going to change your linens, Carly, so you'll have a fresh bed for your nap.” Martha dashed off to the nursery with a wave.

Carly pedaled her arms and legs, cooing up at Emma. Emma lifted Grant's jacket from the chair and moved it out of Carly's reach. A small slip of paper and a matchbook fell from the pocket and she picked them up. A phone number was scribbled on the paper, and the matchbox was from a place called the Seascape Motel. Her pulse hammered wildly.

She remembered the red lipstick and Kate's comments. “Grant, what are these?”

Grant took the paper and matchbook from her, then studied them. “I don't know. Where'd you find them?”

“They fell out of your jacket just now,” Emma explained.

“What?” A frown drew his mouth down. “They aren't mine. I've never been to this motel.”

Emma hesitated, unsure what to say. “They were in your pocket,” she said slowly, “but you don't know where they came from.”

“That's right,” Grant said, his voice growing defensive. He sat down beside her and met her gaze. “Emma, I swear I've never been to this place. I don't know how those matches got in my pocket.” He released a tired sigh. “The last motel I went to was the one we stayed in before Carly was born. We took a weekend trip to Florida for some sun.”

Emma pressed her memory for the slightest hint of what he was talking about.

“And the time before that, we stayed in this little bed-and-breakfast in the mountains. We got snowed in. That was the weekend we conceived Carly.”

Emma shifted, dangling a toy in front of Carly, suddenly uncomfortable.

“I'll never forget the day we learned you were pregnant,” he said, his voice filled with the fondness of memories. “You bought this home pregnancy test. When I got home, you'd fixed a special candlelight dinner. Then I asked where the wine was, and you grinned and showed me the test. We drank orange juice, instead, and danced around the room to Celine Dion.”

Tears burned the backs of Emma's eyes as he continued reminiscing about their past together. “Our wedding day was the happiest day of my life, then Carly was born, and I thought that was the happiest day.” He chuckled and Emma felt like weeping. “Of course I almost passed out when you delivered, but I was exhausted and hadn't eaten all day, thinking about your labor and all—”

“Grant, stop, please stop,” she said, the forgotten memories torturing her.

“I thought you'd want to hear about the good times we had,” Grant said, obviously hurt.

Emma turned to him, tears filling her eyes. “I did,
but I don't anymore. I can't remember them and it hurts to hear you talk about them.”

Grant's face paled. “If we can't share the past, where does that leave us? With nothing?”

Emma shook her head, her voice lost.

Grant stood. “I'm trying to do this, to live here without touching you, Emma, to be with you, but
not
be with you, and it's driving me crazy. I want you so much it hurts.” He grabbed his jacket, his voice rough. “I love you, Emma, and I'm tired of you shutting me out.”

“But you keep pushing me to remember,” she said. “And I can't.”

He stormed to the door and gripped the doorknob, then bowed his head, his words tortured. “God help me, Emma, but yes, I want you to remember. And I'm not sure how we're going to make it if you don't.”

He should have kept his emotions under control. Grant charged into his office, furious with himself for losing his temper with Emma. And for leaving her alone. Only, she wasn't quite alone, he reminded himself. Martha was there and the cop was stationed outside his house. He was so frustrated with this damn mess—

“Something happen at home?” Priscilla's voice drifted past his fury, nagging at his confused emotions.

He didn't try to hide his anger before he faced her. “Last night someone tried to shoot Emma when she came out of the doctor's office.” He explained about the flowers and the note.

“Good heavens,” Priscilla said, pressing one hand over her heart. She gave him a sympathetic smile. “That's awful, Grant. I can see why you're upset.”

“I should have been there,” Grant said tightly. “She could have been killed, Priscilla, because you forgot to tell me to pick her up.”

“I'm sorry, Grant, I had no idea—”

“No, maybe not.” He tried to calm his voice. “But now you know she's in danger and I can't take any chances, so don't let it happen again.”

“It won't, Grant, I promise.” Priscilla reached out to
pat his arm, but he pulled away. Once again he found himself omitting the details of Emma's amnesia. He wasn't sure why he didn't want the people at his office to know. Maybe Kate's suggestion that Emma had forgotten him because she wasn't happy with him still bothered him.

“Do the police know who shot at her?” Priscilla asked.

“Not yet.” His jaw snapped tight as Pete marched in, his face crimson.

“You put those cops on me again, didn't you, Wadsworth? You have to find someone to blame for your wife's accident and you want it to be me!”

Grant squared his shoulders. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Pete poked him in the chest. “You had the cops dig up all the gory details of my wife's death, then they came over and drilled me for an hour, implying I had something to do with Emma's accident.”

“Look, Pete—” Grant held out his hand to calm him “—I didn't send the police to your house. They came to me and told me about your wife. I don't know why you never mentioned it before—”

“I came to work here to get away from my past. I thought, new people, new place, maybe I could forget!”

“Pete, calm down,” Priscilla said. “You're making a scene.”

Pete's eyes grew livid. “My past is my own private affair,” he said, his nostrils flaring. “So stop trying to pin your problems on me, Wadsworth. You're wasting your time.”

“I'm sorry about your wife and baby,” Grant said, meaning it.

“I don't want to discuss them,” he said in an an
guished voice. “Not ever. Now you can tell the cops to leave me alone.” Then Pete stormed out of the office, slamming the door so hard the window rattled.

Grant stared after Pete, feeling sorry for him, wondering if his own life was falling apart. Not only had he almost lost his wife, but now the danger surrounding his family was affecting his work and co-workers. When would it all stop?

“Don't worry about him, he'll get over it,” Priscilla said, once again stroking his arm. Grant glanced at her ruby fingernails, then into her heart-shaped face, and saw the subtle hint of sympathy, the slight offering of feminine comfort—and the haze of sexual awareness glistening in her emerald-green eyes. “Remember what I said, Grant. I'm here if you need me.”

He forced himself to see Emma's face in his mind. Her soft brown eyes, the honeyed strands of her hair shimmering in the sunlight, her slim enticing body lying on satin sheets…

She let you hold her last night, sleep beside her,
a little voice whispered.

But his heart squeezed at the memory of her parting words. She didn't want to hear about the past, about the wonderful memories they'd made. And memories were all he had.

What if she didn't want to remember him? And what if she never told him she loved him again—never let him in her bed as her lover, her husband? Was a platonic relationship all they would have together? And if it was, could he accept it?

 

“I
'M TAKING CARLY
for a walk,” Martha said, setting up the infant stroller. “Thought I'd do it before it gets much later.”

“I'm sure she'll enjoy it.” Emma covered Martha's hand with her own. “Thanks so much for coming, Martha. I don't know what I'd do right now without you and Kate.” Emma noticed a long scar on Martha's hand, reminding her of her own imperfect skin. “What happened to your hand?”

Martha wrinkled her forehead, then made a
tsk
ing sound. “Oh, I cut myself slicing some zucchini. Bled like the dickens.”

“It looks as if it's healing nicely.”

“Yeah. Now I'd better get going or it'll be too chilly to walk the baby.”

“I did some of those exercises the therapist showed me and I'm tired,” Emma said. “I think I'll take a nap.”

Martha bundled Carly into a thick sweater and cap and covered her with a blanket.

Emma kissed Carly's nose. “Enjoy your ride, sweetheart. Maybe soon Mommy will be able to take you out in your stroller.”

After Martha left, Emma looked out the window and saw the officer standing guard.

A few minutes later she stretched out on top of her comforter and closed her eyes, grateful she could lie down and feel safe. Grant's scent still lingered on the pillow beside her and she hugged it to her chest, remembering how wonderful it had felt having him next to her all night. He'd been protective and understanding and he hadn't asked for anything, hadn't pushed her to make love. Part of her wanted the intimacy, but part of her was still afraid.

Of what? Of Grant?

Guilt suffused her for her lack of trust. This morning she'd reacted terribly when he'd started reminiscing.
She should have let him talk, allowed him to share the past. One of the stories might trigger her memory. But it had all been too much, what with the threats, the amnesia, the new feelings she had for her stranger husband. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the events he'd talked about, their wedding, the night in the mountains, being snowed in, but soon the fatigue of the day drew her into blissful sleep.

Sometime later she jerked awake, a strange sensation overwhelming her. Outside the sun had faded and darkness shrouded the room. She listened for Carly, for Martha, for the familiar family sounds, but only silence greeted her. She must have slept longer than she'd intended. Dragging herself up, she reached for the lamp and flicked it on, but nothing happened. The bulb must have burned out.

Feeling jittery, she moved away from the bed, groping for the doorway, wanting to find Carly. She ran her hand along the wall and made her way into the hall, a streak of musty air teasing her neck and sending prickles down her spine. Panic arose in her, but she ordered herself to relax. She'd find a light in a minute and everything would be fine. Taking a calming breath, she pressed her hand on the wall for the light switch, but missed it completely and felt the stair railing at her fingertips. “Carly, I'm coming. Martha, are you still here?”

Suddenly someone pushed her from behind and she stumbled, flailing her arms for control. Her foot hit the edge of the step and her injured leg gave way. She screamed as she lost her balance and went tumbling down the steps.

 

D
ETERMINED TO RIGHT THINGS
with Emma, Grant pulled into the drive, his heartbeat accelerating when he
noticed the guard was nowhere in sight. He jerked the door open and ran up the drive, storming into the entryway. Then he spotted Emma, lying on the floor, the guard kneeling over her. Martha rushed in from the back of the house, looking down in horror, Carly cuddled in her arms.

“Emma!” He raced over and dropped down beside her, his heart pounding when her eyes flickered open. “Oh, my God, are you all right?”

She nodded weakly, her pupils dilated. “Sweetheart, talk to me. Where are you hurt?”

“I'm okay,” Emma whispered faintly. “I fell down the stairs.”

He squeezed her hand, glancing at the guard. “What the hell happened?”

“I don't know, sir,” the young man said, his face alarmed. “I heard a scream, then tried to get in, but the door was locked. So I jimmied the window on the side, came in and found your wife lying here.”

Emma squinted at him in confusion. “Carly? Where is she, and Martha?”

“They're here,” Grant assured her. “They're fine.”

Martha slowly approached them, Carly wedged tightly in her arms. “Carly and I just got back from our walk. I came in the back door,” Martha said.

“Ma'am, do you need me to call an ambulance?” the officer asked Emma.

She shook her head and tried to sit, wincing. “No, I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine,” Grant said. “I think we should have you checked over by a doctor.”

“No.” Emma accepted Grant's arm and pulled herself to a sitting position.

“Go slow now, take it easy, ma'am,” the guard said. “In case you get dizzy.”

Grant ran his hands over her face, her hair, down her sides, checking for injuries. “Are you sure you're okay, Emma? I don't want us to take any chances.”

“I'm fine, Grant, really.” Emma squeezed his hand. “Just bruised.”

He nodded, his throat tight as he helped her to the sofa. “What happened?” He propped her leg on the ottoman, then knelt beside her.

She steadied her gaze on Grant. “I woke up and it was dark. Something didn't feel right.” She shivered. “The room felt cold and too quiet, and the light on the nightstand was burned out. I wanted to see Carly so I went into the hallway…then someone pushed me.”

The blood drained from Grant's face. “What?”

Martha gasped. “Someone was in the house?”

“Are you sure, ma'am?” the officer asked. “I've been outside the whole time and I didn't see anyone come in.”

Emma's face crumpled. “I know someone pushed me. I felt it.”

“I'll search the house and the outer premises. You guys stay here.”

Grant curved his arm around Emma while the officer hurried away. “Shh, sweetheart, it's okay.”

A few minutes later the guard returned, clearly puzzled. “Everything looks secure. I don't know how anyone could have gotten in.”

“What about the security system?” Grant asked.

Martha cleared her throat. “I'm afraid I turned it off when I left for our walk.” Her voice quivered and she seemed visibly shaken. “And I forgot to turn it back on. I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay,” Grant said. “What about the back door?”

“It was locked when Carly and I got back from our walk,” Martha said, holding up her key. “I wouldn't have gone off and left Emma without locking all the doors.” Carly began to fuss and Martha took her away.

“Ma'am, maybe you
thought
you felt a push,” the guard suggested to Emma. “People get skittish in the dark, especially with everything else going on. Then you got nervous and slipped.”

Grant gave him an angry look, then asked him to leave the two of them alone. When the guard went back out to his car, Emma reached for Grant's hand, rubbing it for warmth. “I know someone pushed me, Grant. I just know it.” She pressed her hand to her temple, massaging her head. “I'm not going crazy, am I?”

“No, of course not,” Grant said, wondering if the stress could be getting to her. But one look at the fear in Emma's eyes and he didn't think she was imagining things. “I'm sorry I wasn't here.” Guilt once again assailed him as he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “I'm so sorry, Emma. I shouldn't have left earlier. I had no right to get angry with you….”

She cupped his face in her hands. “No, you've been wonderful, Grant. It's not your fault.” A faint smile curved her lips. “You don't understand. I get so upset because I want so badly to remember and I feel like I'm failing you when I can't.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Sweetheart, I'm the one who's failing you. You don't know how helpless I felt when I saw them pull you from the wreckage. And then later in the hospital…” His voice trembled and he bowed his head. “I thought I was going to lose you. I
thought Carly and I would have to go on without you and I…wasn't sure I could.”

“I'm sorry, Grant,” Emma whispered, squeezing his hand. “I wish this would all end. I keep hoping I'll wake up and remember, not be afraid anymore.”

“I don't want you to be afraid, not ever again,” Grant said, his voice rough as he lowered his mouth to hers. She parted her lips, her shaky sigh an invitation, a declaration of her need. He drove his mouth over hers, plundering the warm recesses of her mouth with his tongue. Too long denied, he felt his control shatter. His hands groped around her, surging up her back, along her spine, pulling her tightly into his embrace. Her hands shook as they clutched his shoulders, but she kissed him back eagerly, her desire and passion as strong as his. Their hot breaths mingled, stoking the fire already burning between them. He swelled with arousal, aching with need. He cupped her breast and tasted the salty sweetness of the skin at her neck with his tongue. His urgency grew to a painful point from which he wasn't sure he could return.

One kiss led to another, their hands touched and comforted, their sighs and moans an expression of their pent-up needs, then he lowered his hand and caressed her thigh. Grant felt her sudden withdrawal. It was almost more than he could take.

“I can't,” Emma whispered.

He remembered that Martha was still upstairs with Carly. “Maybe later tonight, Emma. We can be together. I can hold you and show you how much I love you, how much I want you.” His hand once again skated along her injured thigh, he hoped to soothe her, to assure her he wanted her. “I want to take off your clothes, look at every inch of you to know you're still
here, then make love to you until you're never afraid again, until you know in your heart we're meant to be together.”