Memories: A Husband to Remember\New Year's Daddy (Hqn) (3 page)

Had the pony been hers? She imagined cattle grazing on the stubble in the next field, but the image turned cloudy and she was left with an emptiness that she couldn’t fill. “Damn it all,” she muttered as she tried and failed to summon any other thoughts about her past.

What about Trent? Your husband?
Any memory of him at all eluded her completely.

She shifted on the wrinkled sheets and sucked in her breath at the sharp pain at her ankle. From the hallway, she heard Trent and Dr. Padillo, talking softly in the flowing cadences of Spanish. Of course they were discussing her, but she couldn’t hear or understand them. Frustrated, she tried to sit up, but fell back against the pillows. If only she could climb out of this bed, march down to the police station, or the airport, or the American embassy, if there was one on this godforsaken island, and demand to know who she was and how she got here.

Tears threatened, and she stared at the crucifix on the wall. “Give me strength,” she whispered as Nurse Vásquez returned with her medication. She thought of refusing the drugs, knowing she needed a clear mind, but the pain was too great and she was thankful for the tide of sleep the tiny pills would bring her. She swallowed the sedative eagerly, waiting for the pain to slowly erode and drowsiness to overcome her. Closing her eyes, an old commercial message wafted through her brain.
Calgon, take me away...

When she woke up...then she’d try to remember.

* * *

“I want her released as soon as possible.” Trent eyed the little man who was the most highly recommended doctor on the island. However, there couldn’t have been more than three physicians on Salvaje, so Trent wasn’t going to linger here, hoping this man knew what he was doing. Too much was at stake.

“But you have time...you are on your honeymoon.” With a knowing grin, Padillo patted Trent’s arm. “Be patient.”

“We have to get back to the States.”

“Why must you leave so soon?”

“We’d only planned to stay a week,” Trent explained, trying to keep his temper in check. He was used to doing things his own way. Having Nikki in the local hospital was inconvenient. Damned inconvenient. Probably even dangerous.
Don’t get paranoid,
he told himself, but he hadn’t slept much in five nights and he was strung tighter than a bowstring. Right now, he wanted to shake some sense into the little doctor, to convince Padillo to release Nikki at that very moment, but he couldn’t tip his hand. Not yet.

“Salvaje is a beautiful place. You should stay here. Enjoy the climate,” Doctor Padillo was saying as a nurse at the lobby waved at him in an attempt to get his attention. “Your wife...she has not seen much of the island.”

“We can come back.”

“You Americans,” the doctor said, clucking his tongue. “Always in a rush.”

If you only knew.

“I can release her within three days,” Padillo said, though by the gathering of lines between his flat black brows it was obvious to Trent that the doctor wasn’t happy about his decision. “But there are only a few flights to America.”

“We’ll find one.”

“Doctor—” the nurse called, and Padillo waved her away, as if she were a bothersome insect.

“Then I’ll have the necessary papers ready to sign.”

“Good. Oh, and while you’re at it, I’ll need my wife’s purse and personal belongings.”

“Today?”

“
Sí.
I think she’d like to look through it before she goes home.”

“If it is lost, the hospital cannot be responsible—”

“Don’t worry,” Trent said, thinking of the pretty woman with the battered face as she lay in a hospital bed a few doors down the dark corridor. “Just give me her belongings. I’ll sign a release for everything.”

* * *

Nikki wasn’t sure of the time. She’d slept so much, she couldn’t keep track, but it seemed as if two or three days had passed, with Trent forever in the room with her, the doctors and nurses flitting in and out, feeding her, forcing fluids down her, fiddling with the IV, concerned that she eliminate, and assuring her she would be fine.

They seemed worried about infection, anxious about her temperature and her blood pressure, but no one showed the least bit of uneasiness about the fact that her memory had all but disappeared.

When Nikki had asked Padillo about her amnesia, he assured her that her memory would return and she would remember everything about her past, most likely in bits and pieces at first, but then, slowly, all the years of her life would blend together and she would know who she was, her family, what she did for a living. She’d even remember becoming Trent McKenzie’s bride.

She wasn’t so sure.

When she questioned him, Trent was reticent to talk to her about her amnesia. “Don’t worry,” he’d told her. “It’ll come. Take it easy.” She wondered if he’d been coached by the hospital staff or if there was a reason he didn’t want her to remember her past.

He never gave up his vigil. Sitting with her day and night, refusing the next bed, looking the worse for wear each time she awoke, he was in the room with her. He didn’t bother to shave, but did manage to change into a clean shirt one day. Was he devoted? She didn’t buy it for a minute, yet she was certain that there was something tying them together, something worth much more to him than a wedding ring.

Had he kidnapped her and brought her to this tiny island off the coast of South America?

No—for he wouldn’t have alerted the police to her accident, and Padillo himself had talked to the authorities. Unless the
Policía de Salvaje
were not sophisticated enough to know about crimes committed in the States. Why would they doubt him? He made all the outward signs of caring for her. She, on the other hand, couldn’t remember where she’d lived all her life. Of course they would believe him.

Her head began to throb, and Trent, sensing she was awake, shifted from his spot near the window to take a chair at the foot of the bed. He propped the worn heels of his boots against the mattress and folded his arms over his chest.

“Good morning,” he drawled with a sexy smile.

She glanced at the windows. “It’s afternoon.” Her dry mouth tasted horrible.

“Well, at least you can still tell time.”

“Very funny,” she said, wishing her tongue didn’t feel so thick. She moved her arm and was surprised that there wasn’t much pain. Either she was healing, or the medication hadn’t worn off.

“Feeling better?”

“I feel like hell.”

He chuckled. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sunny personality.”

“Never.” Forcing her gaze to his, she said, “Who are you? And don’t—” she lifted her sore right arm, holding out her palm so that he wouldn’t immediately start giving her pat, hospital-approved answers “—don’t give me any bull about being my husband.”

His lips twitched and showed a hint of white teeth against his dark jaw, but he didn’t argue with her.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I work for an insurance company.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “You—a suit? No way.” She would have bought a lumberjack, or a cowboy, or a race-car driver, but an insurance agent?

“Why not?”

“Give me some credit, will you? I may not be able to remember much, but I’m not a total moron.”

“Believe what you want.” His grin was smug and mocking and she would have given anything to be able to wipe it off his face.

“Oh, now I get it,” she said, unable to stop baiting him. “You’ve spent the better part of the last week camped out here on the off chance I’d wake up and buy term life insurance or accident insurance—”

“I’m an investigator.”

“That’s more like it.”

“For an insurance company. Fraudulent claims. Arson, suicide, that sort of thing.” Cocking his head to one side, he said, “But the company would probably appreciate it if I could sell you some term—”

“Enough already. I believe you.” She tried to sit up, couldn’t and motioned toward the crank at the end of the bed. “Would you—”

Trent, dropping his feet, reached over. Within a minute she was nearly sitting upright. “Better?”

She rubbed the back of her hand where the needle marks from her recent IV were turning black and blue—to match the rest of her body. “Yes. Thanks.”

He seemed less hostile today, and the restlessness which usually accompanied him had nearly disappeared. As he propped his boots on the mattress again, settling low on his back, he actually seemed harmless, just a concerned husband waiting for his bride to recover. She decided to take advantage of his good mood because she couldn’t believe it would last very long.

“How did we meet?”

“I was working for the insurance company on a claim from someone who worked with you. Connie Benson.”

“Connie?” she repeated, shaking her head when no memory surfaced. But the name seemed right. “Connie Benson?”

“You were both reporters at the
Observer.
”

“I don’t—”

“The
Seattle Observer.
You told me you’ve worked there for about six years.”

A sharp pain touched her brain. The
Observer.
She’d heard of it. Now she remembered. Yes, yes! She’d read that particular Seattle daily newspaper all her life.... She remembered sitting at a table...sun streaming through the bay windows of the nook...with...oh, God, with whom? Her head snapped up.

“You remember.”

“Just reading the paper. With someone.”

He held up his hands. “Not me, I’m afraid.”

She felt a niggle of disappointment. For some reason she’d hoped that his story could be proved or disproved by this one little facet of information.

“We met just about five weeks ago.”

“Five weeks?” she repeated, astounded.

“Kind of a whirlwind thing.”

“More like a hurricane. Five weeks? Thirty-five days and we got married?”

“That’s about right.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head, and his eyes grew dark. “I don’t think I’d—”

“You did, damn it, Nikki! We hung out together as much as possible, decided to get married, found a local justice of the peace, tied the knot and came down here for our honeymoon.”

She was still shaking her head. “No, I’m sure—”

His feet clattered to the floor and suddenly he was looming over her, his hands flat on the sheets on either side of her head, his face pressed close to hers. “Look, lady, I’m sorry if I destroyed all your romantic fantasies. But the truth of the matter is that we didn’t have a long engagement or a big, fancy wedding.”

“Why not?”

His sensual grin was positively wicked, and she wondered how she could have felt so comfortable with him only a few minutes before. With one finger, he traced the circle of bones at her throat in a slow sexy motion that caused her blood to flow wildly through her veins. “Because we couldn’t wait, darlin’,” he drawled. “We were just too damned hot.”

“Liar.” She shoved his hand away, but her pulse was jumping crazily, betraying her.

“That’s the way it was. You can try to romanticize it if you want to, put me up on some white charger, give me a suit of shining armor, but it really doesn’t wash, Nikki. I’m no hero.”

Her heart was hammering, her breathing coming in short, quick gulps of air.
Oh, dear God!
Had she really married this...this sexy, arrogant bastard?

His glance slid insolently down her body. “I could lie to you. Hey, what the hell, you don’t remember anyway, do you? So, if you want to believe it was all hearts and flowers, moonlight and champagne, holding hands as we walked along a beach, well, go right ahead.”

“Why are you doing this?” she said through clenched teeth.

“I just don’t want you to have any illusions about me. That’s all.”

“What about the roses?”

“The what?”

She moved her hand, motioning toward the stand near the bed. In the process, her fingertips scraped against his shirt, grazing the muscles hidden behind the soft blue denim. He sucked in a swift breath, his gaze locking with hers for a heartbeat. Her throat turned to sand and she imagined him on another bed, positioned above her, his body straining and sweating. Slamming her eyes closed, she blocked out the erotic image. He couldn’t be telling the truth! He couldn’t!

“Oh, the flowers. Nice touch, don’t you think?” he said without masking any sarcasm.

“What do you mean? Are you saying they’re just some kind of joke?”

“I thought you’d like them. That’s all.”

Her heart sank as he settled back in his chair again. Recrossing his ankles on the end of the bed, he asked, “Anything else you want to know?”

“Just one thing,” she said, bracing herself. “Why did you marry me if you hate me so much?”

His lips flattened. “I don’t hate you, Nikki.”

“You’ve made a point to ridicule me.”

“Because you can’t or won’t remember me.”

Her heart ached, and she forced the words over her tongue. “Do you love me?”

He hesitated, his eyes shadowing for just a second, his emotions unreadable. Plowing a hand through his hair, he grimaced. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Would you—would you call it love?”

Ignoring her question and the pain that had to be obvious in her gaze, he stood and stretched lazily, his muscles lengthening, his body seeming more starkly male and dangerous than ever.

“Do you love me?” she said again, more forcefully this time.

A sad smile touched his face. “As much as I can, Nik. You can’t remember this, but I may as well lay it out to you. I never much believed in love.”

“Then why did you marry me?”

His jaw tightened and he hesitated for a heartbeat. “It seemed like the thing to do.”

“Why?”

He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and walked to the door. Pausing, he sent her a look that cut right to her soul. “I married you ’cause you wanted it so damned much.”

“Noble of you.”

“You really don’t remember me, do you? ’Cause if you did, you’d know I was anything but noble.” He sauntered away, leaving her feeling raw and wounded as his footsteps faded down the hallway.

She let out a long, heartrending sigh. Everything was such a jumble. Nothing made any sense.
Think, Nikki, think! Trent McKenzie is not your husband. He can’t be. Then who the hell is he and what does he want?
Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced her mind to roll backward. He’d told her she lived in Seattle, and that felt right. He’d mentioned she’d worked for a newspaper—the
Seattle Observer
—and that, too, seemed to fit. But nothing else—not the whirlwind romance, not the quick civil ceremony for a wedding, not the hostile man himself—seemed like it would be a part of her life.