“Fine,” he rasped. His throat felt like he swallowed a handful of rocks.
“Your wife’s here. She’s been sitting out in the waiting room. Would you like to see her?”
Dread and excitement filled his belly as his battered brain and heart engaged in a knockdown, drag out tug-of-war. Yes, he wanted to see her. For one thing, he hoped that seeing her would trigger his memory. Second, plain curiosity itched around his neck like an over-starched collar. Who had agreed to spend the rest of her life with him as a rancher’s wife? It took a special type of woman to weather the storm of long nights during calving season and the stress of bringing a herd to market. She’d have to be strong of spirit and demand the same of him as well. Would she now hate him for not remembering her and his promise to love, honor, and cherish?
“Does she know about…?” He pointed to his head.
“Yes, she knows everything. I’ve told her to answer any questions you may have, but also to let you remember as much as you’re able to on your own. It’s going to be an adjustment for you both. She understands that.”
She. He still didn’t even know her name. Dr. Grayson looked at him through the thick lenses of his glasses, his eyes squinted in concern. “Would you like to see her?”
His ability to speak flew the coop. He nodded, muscles tensing as Dr. Grayson left the room. When the door reopened, his breath left his body in a harsh rush and he wondered if he was still knocked out cold and in la-la land.
Hell’s bells and damnation.
Stunning. That was the only word that came to mind. Absolutely stunning. Long dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, revealing a soft chin and high cheekbones. Big brown eyes edged in mink-thick lashes looked at him nervously as her tongue swept over her full lips. His mouth went dry as he continued the perusal of the rest of her small and curvy shape. Soft and round, she was the perfect blend of girl next door and citified bad-girl that made a man want to strip away the innocent smile to expose the vixen beneath the cashmere sweater.
This was his wife? Again, what type of an ass would not remember being married to this beautiful woman? God, was he a lucky son of a bitch.
Apparently, his circulatory system was functioning just fine as desire stirred his blood, setting off another rush of guilt. How could he be getting a hard-on at a time like this? She was a stranger, a damn fine-looking stranger, but still, he knew nothing about her. What kind of a message would an erection send? Hi, I don’t remember you, but it would be great if you crawled into this bed naked. Yeah, that would be a great first impression.
Her smile trembled at the corners. “Hello.” Her voice was soft and sweet like warm butterscotch.
“Hi.” A quick glance down assured him that his lengthening cock was covered properly. Thank God they unhooked him from the monitors, because otherwise they might have thought he was having an attack by the way his heart pounded behind his ribs.
Those dark eyes of hers raked over him as if she could assess his injuries by sight alone. From the top of his bruised head to the bottoms of his restless feet, her gaze sent the nerve endings tingling. He noticed the dark circles that marred her perfect skin, and he wished he hadn’t been their cause.
“You don’t remember me?” She drew the question out.
Trey took a good long look that went deeper than her outer beauty. He forced everything in his being to remember something, anything, about their life together. He pulled in a deep breath and detected her subtle vanilla scent, separate from the antiseptic smell of the hospital room. The perfume wasn’t familiar, but it was comforting, soothing. When his head felt as if it was going to explode from the effort, he let out another harsh exhale.
He shook his head, defeated. “I’m sorry.”
Her small shoulders slumped as she nodded, and her gaze fell to the floor. His arms ached to hold her, to give her comfort, which struck him as funny since he was the one lying there injured.
After a second, she lifted her gaze with a glimmer of resolution in her eyes. “My name is Greta. Margaret, actually, but everyone calls me Greta.”
“Greta,” he repeated and relaxed against the pillows. This was a start. She wasn’t falling apart or running away. Yet. “How long have we been married?” The question sounded lame in his ears, but he figured he had to start somewhere.
“Six years.” She took a step closer. Her head tilted in curiosity. “What do you remember? The ranch, the house?”
“Some of it. I remember the cattle, and the house I remember from when I was a kid. Does it still look the same?”
The corner of her lip lifted. “The inside is different. It’s more modern.”
Trey smiled back. “The house is pretty old. Three generations. I think.”
“You’re right.”
Score one for him. “I remember Mark, and Ben, and Julio.”
She nibbled on her full lip. “Julio doesn’t work for us anymore.”
“Really? Oh, well, I remember Roscoe too.”
“He left about a year ago. Look, Trey, don’t worry about remembering everything. You had quite a fall.”
“I did? What happened?”
A frown touched her brow. “They didn’t tell you? “ He shook his head. “No one knows for sure. You were out on your horse Lucky. Do you remember him?” He shook his head again. What the hell had happened to his horse Chance, he wanted to ask, but she had already moved on. “Mark had been trying to reach you and you didn’t answer your cell. The guys spread out to search and found you out on the far side of the property near the stream. You were on the ground, bleeding, unconscious. Lucky was by your side. They called for the air ambulance and rushed you here.” She blinked against the tears in her eyes but wasn’t able to keep them from her voice. She stopped and took a deep breath while looking at the floor.
In a sick, twisted way her tears gave him comfort. She cared for him. He hated causing her pain, but her obvious distress over his welfare must mean that they were close and he wasn’t alone.
“I’m sorry.” She straightened her shoulders, visibly shaking the sadness away. “I haven’t asked how you were. Do you need anything? Ice, water, another pillow?”
“Another pillow would be nice.” He didn’t need it, but he wanted an excuse to get a closer look at her.
Greta moved with swan-like grace to the closet and collected a pillow, then approached him with cautious steps. Her lips were pinched tight, and her gaze skittered away when their eyes met. Gentle hands helped him lift up as she carefully arranged the pillows. Her touch on his back and shoulder was more polite than amorous, but the heat of her hands seared him through the thin gown.
With her standing so close, he noticed her rich brown eyes were rimmed in red. Tears clung to the lashes, ready to spill over at a moment’s notice. Seeing her pain and uncertainty pierced his chest. He wanted to reassure her that everything was just fine, but he couldn’t. He was tempted to give in to tears himself, but squashed the urge like a bug under his boot. That wasn’t the cowboy way. He would forge on however best he could and that was all there was to it.
Still, her sorrow called out to him, and before he realized it he latched onto her hand. They both gasped at the sudden movement, their gazes glued to where they touched. His hand looked so big and clumsy compared to her soft smooth one. Her little hand trusted him to look out for her, and now he didn’t remember her. He had failed her.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped.
Surprise lit her delicate features. “Why?”
“I don’t remember you. I wish I did. I can’t imagine how you must feel right now. Please know that the last thing I want to do is hurt you anymore, but I gotta know what I’m missing. Do—do we have kids?” he whispered the last part.
She gasped, then licked her lips. “No, we—uh, we don’t have any children.”
“I’m sorry I have to ask this now of all time, but I don’t know what I’m forgetting, and I already feel like an ass for not remembering you. I’m so sorry. I just wish
things were like they were before.”
For a second, he thought he saw fear flare in her eyes before she squeezed his hand. “I understand, I really do, Trey. Don’t worry about remembering. We’ll manage somehow. I’m just glad you’re okay. Well, that it wasn’t worse, anyway.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ll just take it one day at a time.”
Trey nodded, not knowing what else to say. He knew what he wanted to do. Pull her close and kiss the tears from her eyes. But it was way too soon for anything husbandly like that.
A knock on the door preceded a nurse entering the room with a tray in her hands.
“Here is your broth, Mr. Armstrong.” She set it on the table near his bed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Armstrong, visiting hours have been over for a while, and Dr. Grayson wants him to rest.”
She nodded. “I’ll be just a minute.”
Panic gripped him at the thought of her leaving. Greta was his only link to his past, and her presence was a great comfort. He clasped her hand tighter to keep her close for just a little longer.
“You’re supposed to be released tomorrow. I’ll come get you in the afternoon, all right?” Her honeyed voice slid over his tight muscles, easing some of his tension.
“Okay.” Reluctantly, he let her go with a slow slide of his palm. Had those little sparks of electricity always been in her touch?
Greta looked him in the eye. A thunderstorm rolled across her face as she bit the inside of her lip. Before he could ask her what she was thinking, she reached out and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. The movement shot like wildfire through his body down to his toes. The fact that a simple touch shook him so deeply amazed him.
Her plump lower lip jutted out while her gaze focused on his mouth. His own lips parted in anticipation. Did he deserve a good-bye kiss? No, but he wasn’t going to turn one down, either. He swayed toward her, caught between heaven and damnation.
The pad of her thumb brushed along his jaw. “Good night, Trey,” she whispered.
“Good night, Greta.” My wife.
Her lips curled up in a soft smile of promise and when she left, all of her warmth went with her. He heaved a deep sigh. Anticipation and excitement hummed in his vein. The electricity coursing through his body reminded him of how good it was to be alive.
What type of relationship did he have with the lovely Greta? He hoped the two of them were drunk with happiness, ‘cause she certainly left him lightheaded. Settling back against the perfectly fluffed pillows, he started counting the minutes until he was released, and he could delve into the mystery that was Greta Armstrong.
2
It took Greta three tries before her shaking hand forced the car key into the lock. Her thoughts were so focused on Trey that she had completely forgotten about the unlock button on the fob. Once inside the SUV, she rested her head against the steering wheel and let the tears fall.
“He’s okay. He’s okay,” she whispered into the plastic.
She hadn’t believed Mark when he called her about Trey’s accident. Her husband had been upright the last time she had seen him. He was stunned and in shock, much to her surprise, but at least he was still walking. What the hell had happened?
Seeing him in that bed, unconscious, weak, it had hit home just how much the man lying there was not the Trey she had married. She had married a man who wore a ready smile and a devilish spark in his eyes. Back then, he’d had enough confidence for ten men and never let anything keep him from what he wanted. That Trey she loved with her heart and soul, and she missed him. God, she missed him so much. The man she had seen hooked to monitors and tubes had been broken in both body and spirit. The guilt knowing that she was to blame tore her in two.
It was almost a blessing that he lost his memory, because if he remembered…
“Please, Lord, don’t let him remember,” she whispered over and over again.
The things she had said, the horrible things she said to him made her want to curl up in a ball as the tears fell faster. She didn’t regret saying them. She just couldn’t live through that experience again.
But now there was a chance she might not have to. A spark of her Trey was back. It was there in the light of curiosity in his eyes and the hint of the smile that had flitted nervously on his lips. The spark was small, but just enough to give her hope.
As long as he doesn’t remember. He can’t remember.
A knock on the window had her gasping as her hand flew to her throat. An orderly peered down at her through the glass.
“Are you all right, miss?” he asked.
Hysterical laughter bubbled to the surface. He had no clue just how far away from all right she was.
“Sure,” she replied and brushed back the hair that stuck to her cheeks. “I’m just fine.”
3
Never had going home felt so good.
The thermometer on the dashboard read ninety-four degrees, but that didn’t stop Trey from riding with the window rolled down. The brush of the hot, dry breeze on his skin was so much better than the frozen, recirculated air that had been pumped into his hospital room.
“Are you sure you don’t mind me having the window down?” He asked again of his fellow passengers in the SUV.
Greta smiled from the driver’s seat as she risked a quick glance in his direction. “No, you’re fine.”
He eyed her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and hoped to hell he wasn’t the cause of her anxiety.
His memory hadn’t returned. She said that it didn’t matter, but he found that hard to believe. On some level she must be hurting because the man who once knew her on the most intimate of levels couldn’t even remember something as simple as her middle name. Christ, what was her middle name?
Chalk that up on the list for the morning that had been filled with a bevy of what-the-hells. When he had gotten his first real look at his face that morning, he about fell on his ass in disbelief. Silver streaks blended in with the sun-tipped blond strands of his hair. Deep creases were carved around his mouth, and a permanent furrow etched his brow. He was only thirty- five, yet his dull blue eyes said he had lived a life filled with too much pain.
God, he hoped that once he was back in familiar territory, the memories would race back like a stampede.
He snuck another peek at Greta. She was strung tighter than a guitar string, and the compulsion to place a comforting hand on her knee rode him hard, but he wasn’t certain if that maneuver would send them careening off the road, so he kept his hands to himself.
She sure did look pretty in a blue cotton blouse and hip-hugging jeans. Her hair fell in a chocolate waterfall over her shoulders held back by a black headband. The look was very wholesome, very rancher’s wife, but the richness of her dark eyes and the pout of her lips hinted at a passion he ached to become reacquainted with. He wanted to replace the uncertainty in her gaze with drowsy desire, which was definitely not an appropriate response, given the situation. It was probably for the best they had an extra rider in the car.
Behind him Mark, his foreman, shifted his tall frame in his seat. Trey was grateful to see one familiar face, but his presence effectively put a damper on any quality time with his wife.
Mark was his brother from another mother. As kids, he and Trey had worked together on the ranch every weekend and all throughout summer. Mark had been right by his side after Trey’s parents passed away soon after they had graduated high school. They had left the farm to a man-child who thought he had years to plan before that mantle of responsibility landed upon his scrawny shoulders. But together, he and Mark had worked the ranch until they knew the location of every tree, gopher hole, and rock formation. If his best friend was still working for him after all of these years, he must be doing something right.
Greta turned the SUV off the main road, and the earthy scent of dry hay became overpowered by the distinct and overwhelming aroma of cows. Many a city slicker turned tail and ran after that first inhale, but it was something Trey had grown up with.
He drew in a deep breath and smiled. That bite of manure and dirt in his nose was so comforting, he sucked in another lungful with a long sigh.
Mark laughed. “I knew you’d remember the smell of cow shit. You’re the only sick bastard I know who would wear it as cologne, if it were possible.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he groused, mindful of the pretty lady seated to his left.
They passed under a wrought iron archway that read “Sprawling A Ranch.” Split-wood rail fencing bordered the areas closest to the house, while barbed wire enclosed the rest of the rambling 15,000-acre spread.
“Welcome home, sweetie—Trey,” Greta said.
He wished she didn’t feel the need to curb her affection toward him. She probably thought he needed some space and time to readjust, which he could appreciate, but she was welcome to get into his space as much as she desired. If she wanted to call him “sweetie,” by all means, yes ma’am. If she wanted to touch his arm, or give him a hug, even press her lips to his followed by those lush curves…yeah, he’d need to pull the reins in on those lecherous thoughts.
The two-story ranch house stood sentinel in the middle of rolling green grass the same as it had for the last eighty years. The paint was fresher, but the swing that had been there long before he was born still hung the front porch, swaying gently in the afternoon breeze.
Parked next to the garage was a huge Ford F-350 Super Duty that made his jaw drop and a bit of drool collect at the corner of his mouth. Those babies had a 400-horsepower engine and were capable of over 24,000 pounds of hauling capacity. Huh, funny how he remembered those details. Still, the truck sure was a beauty. And way out of his league. When he inherited the ranch he had promised himself that one day, when the business started making a healthy profit, he would get the biggest, baddest truck there was, and that F-350 was it. Whoever owned that beast was a lucky SOB.
Hearts on Fire: Romance Multi-Author Box Set Anthology Page 114