Her Forgotten Husband (Harlequin Treasury 1990's)

by Anne Ha

  If she had, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to regain her memory.

  Garrick pulled out of the hospital complex and joined the flow of traffic down the hill. “Feeling okay?” he asked her. “Does it upset you to be in a car?”

  Samantha shook her head, unable to voice her troubled thoughts. Deliberately she smiled and relaxed her grip on her purse. “I’m fine,” she said. “The car doesn’t bother me at all.”

  It was true, too. Garrick’s car felt comfortable, solid and sturdy, and he drove with competent ease. She wondered how many times she’d ridden in it with him.

  Reaching the bottom of the hill, they drove along a few city streets and then uphill again on a steep, curvy road. The trees arching over the roadway were thick with spring leaves, and warm air swept in through the open window. They passed large houses set back from the road.

  Nothing was familiar.

  “Have I been on this road before?”

  He glanced over at her. “It’s the quickest route from your old apartment to the house. You probably drove it when you came to visit Jenny.”

  “Oh. Where was my apartment?”

  “Across the river, about fifteen minutes from here.”

  “Did I live there until we got married?”

  He nodded. “We can go see it sometime, if you’d like. Maybe it will spark a memory.”

  And maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe her previous life would always remain a total blank, the good memories gone along with the bad.

  She wondered suddenly where they’d made love that first time, when she’d seduced him. Had she lured him back to her apartment under false pretenses, or had she brazenly invited herself into his bed? Maybe she’d attacked him at his office, or in a dumpy motel room. She wondered whether she had good memories of that hour in his arms, or bad.

  Looking at Garrick’s virile male form on the leather seat beside her, at his capable hands on the steering wheel, Samantha was pretty sure the memories were good. At least the ones of their lovemaking.

  “Samantha?”

  She flushed. “Sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking. We can go by the apartment tomorrow if you think it would help.”

  “Why don’t we see how you’re feeling? You may need a few days’ rest.”

  Rest wasn’t high on Samantha’s list of priorities, even though she knew her body needed it. She didn’t want to spend long hours alone in a house she didn’t remember, surrounded by possessions that didn’t rekindle any of her lost memories. She couldn’t imagine anything more lonely.

  It would be better to get a good night’s sleep and go to work in the morning, even though Dr. Hernandez had said she shouldn’t.

  She caught herself. How could she go to work? She didn’t know where she worked, much less what she did. And how would she remember what to do? For that matter, she couldn’t even be sure she was employed!

  “Do I have a job?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What do I do?”

  “You’re the assistant marketing director of an office supply firm.”

  “Oh.” Samantha took a moment to digest this. What did such a position entail? It sounded strange and intimidating, as if she were hearing about someone else’s job rather than her own.

  She took stock of her clothes—a pair of wheatcolored jeans and a plain white T-shirt, which Garrick had brought her that morning. It didn’t look like the sort of outfit an assistant marketing director would wear.

  “Are you sure I don’t deliver pizzas or rent out movies at the video store?”

  He smiled. “No, you’re definitely in marketing, and you’re very good at your job.”

  “I don’t remember anything about it.”

  “You will,” he replied. “In any case, they’ve got you covered. You’d planned an extended maternity leave, and they’d already started to prepare for your absence. This is a little sooner than expected, of course, but there’s no rush to get back before your memory returns.”

  “If it ever does,” she muttered.

  Garrick took a hand from the steering wheel and placed it on her knee. The gesture was meant to comfort, she knew, but its effect was less than soothing. The warmth of him burned through the fabric of her jeans, shooting sparks of awareness up her body.

  Disturbed she could be so affected by a man she knew didn’t love her, Samantha wanted to pull away.

  Garrick spared her the effort. He lifted his hand quickly, frowning as if he, too, was bothered by the casual contact.

  “Don’t worry,” he said after a moment. “Whatever happens, you’ll be able to deal with it. You’ve always been levelheaded, Samantha.”

  For some reason this disappointed her. The way he said it made her sound almost boring. “Always?”

  He studied her for a long moment. “No, not always… I wouldn’t have married you if you didn’t have an adventurous streak.”

  Garrick’s meaning was clear enough. He might as well have said straight out that he’d only married her because she’d gotten pregnant. The only surprising thing was that his voice wasn’t bitter. It was almost as if he didn’t mind being trapped into marrying her.

  She must have misinterpreted his tone, she decided. Perhaps her concussion had affected her perception. Or perhaps it was the effects of carrying the baby.

  The baby. Samantha gazed down at her abdomen.

  Garrick had said he wanted the baby, and she believed him. But would he love her or him, even though he didn’t love Samantha? A child needed a lot of attention and nurturing, and if Garrick acted simply out of a sense of duty, surely the child would know. And worse, if he treated his offspring as some sort of unwelcome houseguest, a burden that had been thrust on him by a conniving mother, she wouldn’t be able to stand it.

  “So,” she said, eager to distract herself from her unpleasant thoughts, “I’m in marketing. What do you do?”

  “I’m the president of an office supply firm.”

  She looked over at him. “The same firm?”

  Garrick nodded. “The same firm.” He turned the car off the road and drove through a wrought iron gate that stood between two stone pillars flanked by a tall, dense hedge. “We’re here,” he announced.

  They swept down a long drive, rounded a curve, and then the house came into sight.

  Samantha swallowed. The house was huge—far larger than any of the ones they’d passed on the way up. Its style looked Georgian, she thought—not knowing how she could remember architecture when she didn’t even know her own name—with alternating dark and light red bricks and a massive portico entrance framed by imposing columns. The lawn in front of the house was landscaped with clipped hedges and lush beds of flowers, and a low balustrade bordered the walk.

  Samantha clutched her purse full of items she didn’t recognize. Even without her memory she knew the house in front of her belonged to a very wealthy family.

  And she knew, with the same awful certainty, that she hadn’t trapped Garrick Randall into marriage because she’d loved him.

  She’d done it for the money.

  Hearing the low purr of her brother’s car in the driveway, Jenny Randall surveyed her handiwork before leaving Samantha’s bedroom.

  Everything was ready.

  The photo of Samantha and Garrick looked right at home on the nightstand. Samantha was a pretty sixteen, Garrick a debonair twenty-one. His arm lay draped across her shoulder and his expression was playful. Samantha was smiling for the photographer. To someone who didn’t know better, it was a sweet picture that hinted at deeper feelings on the part of both people.

  And Samantha didn’t know better—not anymore.

  There was a similar photo on Garrick’s nightstand, taken a few years later. Jenny had dug both pictures out of her album the night before, after Garrick had called and told her about Samantha’s amnesia.

  Amnesia—what a stroke of luck!

  Jenny glanced at the drawer, which now held a half-empty bottle of scented massage oil. She’d pou
red out the other half to make it look well used, to give an impression of ongoing eroticism.

  She grinned to herself.

  Best of all was the lingerie. Samantha’s dresser now overflowed with silk and lace creations—washed once to take away the new look—instead of the sturdy cotton undies Samantha had favored before her accident. Jenny had also packed a wickedly tempting bra and panty set with the clothes she’d sent to the hospital with Garrick that morning, so the conversion would be complete.

  Many of the items would have to be put aside as the baby grew, but Jenny had bought several filmy, flowing chemises and nightgowns that would continue to fit. Samantha would look sexy and desirable all the way through her pregnancy, if Jenny had any say in the matter.

  She glanced around the room one more time to see if she’d missed anything. Yes, the connecting door. She crossed the room and unlatched the door leading to Garrick’s room, propping it open with a heavy doorstop.

  It wasn’t fair of her to do this, of course. But the doctor had said Samantha’s memory might not return for weeks or months—plenty of time for a whole new set of memories to be formed.

  And they would. Garrick and Samantha were married now, and Jenny intended them to stay that way. The baby and their wedding were the only good things to come out of the past few months, which had been so difficult for everyone. It was time for some healing, for some much-deserved happiness.

  Satisfied with her efforts, Jenny headed downstairs to greet her best friend.

  Samantha sat in Garrick’s car, frozen, staring up at the huge house. Her stomach felt knotted and tense. “I live here?”

  “We both do,” Garrick said. “Along with Jenny and Beth—that’s our mother—and Hugh.” He got out of the car and opened her door.

  “Who’s Hugh? Your father?”

  Shaking his head, Garrick helped her up the walkway to the front steps. “Dad died several years ago. Hugh is the, er, housekeeper—for lack of a better word. He hates to be called the butler.”

  “I see…. So we all live here together? Like on Dynasty or something?”

  Garrick smiled. “We don’t get in each other’s way much. It’s a good-size house.”

  Which was exactly what bothered her. “I noticed,” she murmured, grimacing.

  “Here’s Hugh at the door.”

  Samantha looked up to see the strangest housekeeper imaginable. At least seven feet tall and two hundred and fifty pounds, the man at the top of the steps wore a T-shirt, black jeans and square-toed motorcycle boots. His salt-and-pepper hair was tied back with a leather thong, and he looked as if he ate small children for breakfast.

  Her hands strayed protectively to her abdomen.

  Hugh’s eyes caught the movement. “Morning sickness? Should I make a pot of tea?” His gruff, Hell’s Angels voice was all concerned solicitude.

  Samantha glanced at Garrick.

  He chuckled, as if amused by her trepidation. “He won’t bite, Sam.”

  She felt embarrassed. “Thank you, Hugh, but I’m fine. I haven’t had any morning sickness at all.” Even last night’s headache had subsided.

  “Sorry, Hugh.” Garrick turned to Samantha. “He wants to try a ginger tea recipe he found in one of our baby books, but you haven’t been ill yet—much to his disappointment.”

  The big, mean-looking housekeeper clucked his tongue as he ushered them inside. “Don’t you believe him, Samantha. I’m much happier to have you in perfect health. Welcome home, by the way.”

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling. “Pregnancy does seem to agree with me. I guess it runs in the family, because my mother didn’t get sick when she had me, either—” She stopped, surprised.

  Hugh’s craggy features softened. “Your memory’s already returning, I see.”

  Garrick looked oddly uncomfortable, but said in a calm enough voice, “How much do you remember?”

  “I’m not sure. I think I saw her face for a moment. Her skin was soft and…and she used to wear combs in her hair….” Samantha closed her eyes, grasping at the images, but they’d scattered like dust motes blown from a windowsill. “That’s all. Except—she’s passed away, hasn’t she?”

  Gently Garrick nodded. “Both of your parents.”

  Samantha felt a strange sadness knowing she’d never see them again, knowing they’d never meet their grandchild—strange because, though she felt the emotions, she still couldn’t remember them.

  Hugh gave her a look of sympathy.

  At that moment footsteps sounded from above, and they all turned their heads toward the sweeping staircase.

  “Samantha? Is that you?” A tall, attractive brunette descended the steps, her blue eyes sparkling. “You’re home!”

  Samantha blinked. Something about the moment seemed familiar, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. It certainly wasn’t the sight of the young woman’s face, which she recognized no more than Garrick’s or Hugh’s. “Are you Jenny?” she asked.

  “Of course I’m Jenny!” The woman rushed across the entrance hall, her leather flats clacking on the polished white marble. She enveloped Samantha in a warm hug. “But you probably can’t remember, can you? Amnesia—how exciting! Oh, Samantha, I’m so glad you’re all right. We were terribly worried, you know. And Garrick’s practically lived at the hospital since your accident….”

  She continued in this vein for several minutes, taking Samantha by the arm and leading her back through the elegant house to an airy breakfast room filled with potted ferns. The men trailed behind.

  Jenny, Samantha and Garrick all sat at the table, while Hugh disappeared briefly and returned with tall glasses of iced tea and a cup of milk for Samantha. He picked up a spray bottle and misted the ferns, frond by frond, looking incongruous as he handled the delicate plants.

  “Tell me,” Jenny said. “When you woke up in the hospital, what was your first thought?”

  Samantha glanced at Garrick. “Well, I guess I wanted to know who the strange man by my bed was.”

  Jenny clapped her hands together, looking tickled. “You must have been pretty shocked when he told you he was your husband.”

  She nodded.

  “I bet you were also thrilled, though—I mean, not every girl’s lucky enough to have such a hunk for a husband. Oh, this is so romantic! Now you can fall in love with each other all over again!”

  “Jenny.” Garrick’s voice had a tense edge to it “Let’s not overwhelm her.”

  “I’m not overwhelming her, Garrick. “I’m just welcoming her home.” She grinned impishly at her brother. “Can I help it if I’m excited for the two of you?”

  Garrick shot her a quelling look, but didn’t say anything.

  Samantha felt she was missing an important part of the conversation, but was too busy trying to interpret Jenny’s words to worry about it. Did Jenny really think she and Garrick had been in love? Well, she seemed to have a generally positive outlook on life, so maybe she’d only seen what she’d wanted to see. And hadn’t realized love wasn’t a factor in the marriage.

  Jenny waved a hand around the breakfast room. “Do you really not remember any of this?”

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “She has amnesia,” Garrick reminded her.

  “I know that,” Jenny said. “I know she doesn’t remember who we are, or even how much she loves you. And goodness knows she won’t remember that if you keep being so grouchy. But I’ve never met an amnesiac before and I want to know what it’s like. Do you remember the first day you met Garrick?”

  Samantha shook her head.

  Jenny leaned forward, her blue eyes alight. “How about the first time he kissed you?”

  “Enough, Jenny,” Garrick interrupted. “I think we should give Samantha a chance to get her bearings and adjust herself to the fact that she has a family.”

  Jenny stood up, scowling good-naturedly at him. “Oh, all right.” She put a hand on Samantha’s shoulder. “Come on, Sam, I’ll give you a tour and show you to your room.”


  Garrick stood, too, looking every inch the no-nonsense business tycoon. “May I see you in the hallway for a moment, Jenny?”

  While brother and sister left, Samantha remained at the table and finished her milk.

  Hugh stood across the room, pruning fern leaves with a small pair of scissors.

  “They’re beautiful,” she said. “The ferns, I mean.”

  He smiled at her. “Thanks, Samantha.”

  “The plants are important to you, aren’t they?”

  Hugh nodded. “If I weren’t the Randalls’ housekeeper, I’d work in a greenhouse. If I weren’t lying in a ditch somewhere, that is.”

  Samantha made a questioning sound, curious but hesitant to pry.

  “I was a practicing alcoholic when Beth found me fifteen years ago,” he explained. “She helped me get sober, then offered me a job….”

  Jenny popped back into the breakfast room. “Ready?”

  Samantha rose, automatically gathering the empty glasses in her hand. She realized she had no idea where to put them.

  Hugh appeared by her side. “I’d be happy to take those from you, Samantha.”

  She relinquished her burden, but noticed she felt odd being waited on—which only confirmed her suspicion that this wealthy life-style wasn’t what she’d known as a child. She must have taken a giant step up the financial ladder by marrying into the Randall family.

  At the door Jenny linked her arm through Samantha’s. “Garrick made me promise to be good,” she said, obviously amused. “I’m allowed to give you a brief tour of the house, just enough so you won’t get lost, and leave you alone to rest. And he says I’m supposed to let you remember things on your own.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He said the doctor agreed, but he didn’t explain the reasons. It doesn’t make sense to me, though. I mean, if you know things, but just don’t remember you know them, then why shouldn’t we tell you what you already know? It couldn’t do any harm, could it?”

  “I guess not.”

  Jenny gave a theatrical sigh. “But we have to follow the master’s orders—not a word about the past. The kitchen is down that hallway, by the way. Hugh won’t mind if you raid the refrigerator. You and he are good friends.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that.”