Morgan's Marriage

by Lindsay McKenna

  Morgan lay impatiently as she examined him thoroughly, from his hands to his back, which smarted like hell itself, to the rest of his body. “I don’t know you,” he said abruptly when she’d finally stepped back. “Laura said I would know you, but I don’t.”

  Ann sobered and reached forward to pull the covers up over him. “She told you about the drugs Ramirez gave you?”

  “Yes.” He felt highly impatient. Angry. “Dammit, Doctor, my head is empty. I don’t remember anything. When the hell is that going to change?”

  “I don’t know, Morgan. I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t. Damage has occurred to the memory-storage part of your brain because of the cocaine and other drugs Ramirez used on you.”

  “Ramirez…”

  She sat on the edge of the bed, facing him. “Do you remember him?”

  “Hell, no! But if I did, I’d like to kill the son of a bitch for erasing my memory.”

  “He tortured you. Did Laura cover that with you?”

  Breathing hard, Morgan shook his head. “No.”

  Pursing her lips, she said, “I see.”

  “Well, I’m glad as hell someone does.” He glared up at her. “This woman, Laura…”

  “What about her?”

  “She says she’s my wife.” He made a frustrated sound and looked away from the doctor’s somber features. “If she is, why the hell can’t I feel anything for her?”

  “You feel nothing, Morgan?”

  “Nothing,” he said flatly. “And I feel bad, because I can see it hurts her.” Working his mouth, he muttered, “I don’t want to see her hurt…but dammit, I can’t force myself to feel something that isn’t there!”

  “Of course you can’t,” Ann said soothingly as she eased off the bed. “First things first, Morgan. I’m going to have a nurse come in and remove these IVs. I think you’re ready to try solid food. Later, we’ll send some orderlies in to get you on your feet and start working those leg muscles. Right now, you’re weak as a newborn lamb.”

  He tried to steady his breathing. “Isn’t there someone I’d remember?”

  “You don’t remember me at all?” she asked as she picked up her clipboard.

  “No.”

  “This afternoon,” she said, “I’m going to ask several of your friends to drop by. They won’t stay long, just long enough to see if it jogs something in your memory.”

  He scowled. “And if nothing jogs? What then?”

  “We’ll take this one day at a time, Morgan. Sometimes, as the drugs wash out of a person’s system—which can take weeks—a memory might return. It might be something small and insignificant, but it would be a start to opening the door on all of your past.”

  Morgan looked down, feeling completely alone. “Do you know what it’s like to sit here without a past, Doctor? My memory is a big blank. I’ve got nothing!”

  Ann reached out and gently touched his gowned shoulder. “Take it easy, Morgan. I know how upsetting this is. But don’t push yourself so hard—don’t try to force the memories.” She pointed to the television affixed to the wall opposite his bed. “I suggest watching some television, and I’ll have a nurse bring you some newspapers and magazines. Anything might trigger a memory.”

  Bitterly, he looked around the sterile room. “I hate hospitals.”

  A smile turned up the corners of Ann’s serious mouth. “Well,” she drawled, “at least that sounds like the old Morgan speaking.”

  “What?”

  She grinned a little. “You’ve always hated hospitals—and with good reason.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “No,” Ann said lightly, “my gut feeling is you’ll remember on your own. It’s just a good sign to me that you might know more than you think you do. Your responses are those of the Morgan I knew before this ordeal. Trust your gut feelings, your inner knowing, Morgan. That will help open that door to the past, too.”

  “Feeling? Knowing?” He growled the words like a snarling dog. “I’m a man, Doctor. I don’t work off feeling and knowing. I go by what I can see, hear, taste or smell.”

  She chuckled indulgently and patted his arm. “Yup, you’re the same old Morgan. Welcome home, my friend. It’s good to have you back. I’ll send in a nurse shortly to untruss you.”

  Morgan watched her walk to the door and open it. “Wait.”

  Ann turned expectedly. “Yes?”

  “What—what about Laura?”

  “You tell me.”

  He glared at her. “I don’t want to keep hurting her.”

  Shrugging, Ann murmured, “Neither of you has that choice right now. She loves you. You’re her husband.”

  “But I don’t remember her!” he exclaimed, frustrated. “I can’t pretend with her, Doctor.”

  “No, and you shouldn’t, Morgan.”

  “Then what the hell am I to do?”

  “Be patient. I know it’s not one of your finer attributes. You’ve never been particularly patient—except with Laura and your children. But you’re going to have to try.”

  “When will I see her?”

  “She’s sleeping right now. I gave her a sedative that will knock her out for at least eight hours.”

  Morgan stared down at the light blue bedspread. “She’s hurting badly over all this. I can feel it.”

  Ann shut the door and walked back to his bed, holding her clipboard in front of her. “Morgan, she’s very fragile,” she warned quietly. “Did she tell you anything of her own kidnapping ordeal?”

  “No,” he growled impatiently, “only that she and Jason, my son, were kidnapped along with me.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all.”

  Ann looked up at the window and then back at him. Her voice was gentle. “She’s suffering as much as you, Morgan, for a lot of reasons that I’m going to allow her to tell you when she feels the time is right. Laura is one of the most valiant women I’ve ever run across in my life, and I’ve seen a few heroes in my lifetime, believe me. She’s been a main support for you, Perseus and everyone connected with these horrible events.”

  “She’s vulnerable,” he observed tiredly. “I can feel it around her and see it in her face.”

  “Yes,” Ann agreed.

  “So I’m not aiding things by not remembering. Hell,” he rasped, “I feel no connection with her! She’s a stranger to me, Doctor.” His voice cracked with concern. “I can see she needs help but I don’t know how to help her. I mean, I feel for her, for whatever she’s going through, but I can’t make that personal connection that a husband and wife would have. I don’t know what the hell to do—” His voice cracked.

  Ann nodded. “I know,” she whispered. “It’s a painful situation for everyone, and it’s not going to go away, Morgan. As a psychiatrist, my response is that you should spend as much time with Laura as you can. It will better your chances of remembering. She was close to you, Morgan, more than anyone else in your life. You trusted her. You didn’t let people get very close to you because of—ah—your past. But Laura was able to get beyond your defenses. She knows you best, Morgan. That’s why it’s so important you allow her to remain in your life.”

  An acidic taste stung his mouth as he avoided the doctor’s searching look. “All she does is make me feel more pain. I’ve got enough of my own. I don’t want to feel hers, too.”

  Sighing, Ann nodded. “Give yourself some time, Morgan. Laura has a lot she’s dealing with right now. She can no more hide her pain than you can yours. It’s a raw situation with no easy answers.”

  Leaning back on the pillows, exhausted, Morgan shut his eyes. “I’m so damned angry and upset,” he rasped unsteadily. “I want to cry for myself…for her….”

  “That’s a good sign, Morgan.”

  His eyes snapped open and he looked at her. “What is?”

  “The fact that you want to cry for both of you. Stay with your feelings. Stay with Laura. She helped you once. I know she can help you again….”

  Chapte
r 4

  Morgan moved restlessly around the hospital room. It had been two weeks since he’d come out of the coma, and he was bored to death. Weak February sunshine filtered between the slats of the venetian blinds. Outside, at least a foot of snow covered the ground. How he longed to be out there! Holding the blinds apart with his healing fingers, he wondered if the real Morgan Trayhern also loved the outdoors.

  He frowned, and his mind swung back to Laura. She was his wife in name only. No matter what she said or what pictures she showed him of his family, he couldn’t find that answering connection within him. He eased his fingers from the blinds and turned around. His level of confusion was almost too much to cope with. Over the weeks, different people—friends and employees from his past, he was told—had visited him. He recognized none of their faces or stories. Not a damn one.

  Morgan sighed and ran his fingers through his short black hair sprinkled with silver. Turning, he walked slowly back to the unmade bed. Newspapers, magazines and videos were scattered all over the place. In one way, he supposed, he’d caught up with the world at large. Jake Randolph was continuing to run Perseus for him—and Morgan couldn’t imagine trying to run it himself. The Morgan Trayhern they knew evidently had a commanding grasp of military knowledge, but he certainly didn’t.

  His scowl deepened. On the dresser sat a photograph of his younger sister, Alyssa Cantrell, and her husband, Clay. Another photo showed his brother, Noah, Noah’s wife, Kit, and their children. A third photo showed his smiling parents in front of their Clearwater, Florida, home. He recognized none of them.

  The door opened.

  In relief, Morgan looked up. Who would it be this time? Dr. Parsons had scheduled visitors for him on a daily basis. He got a briefing from Jake at eight o’clock every morning, though he felt foolish that the names, the teams and their objectives meant nothing to him at all.

  Jake poked his head around the corner. “Good morning, Morgan,” he said in greeting.

  “I suppose,” Morgan growled. “Come in.” Jake was wearing a red flannel shirt and Levi’s. For a man running a multimillion-dollar company, he certainly didn’t look the part. He looked more like a soldier than an executive. Morgan wondered how he himself had dressed when he’d run Perseus, but decided not to ask. Jake had his briefcase in hand, and he hoisted it up on the bed between them.

  “We’re switching tactics today,” Jake said without preamble as he opened it.

  Morgan halted in his tracks. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, you and Laura are going deep undercover for a while.” Jake eyed him, then handed over a piece of paper. “We picked up a satcom from Peru late yesterday.”

  Morgan read it. “It’s from Guillermo Garcia.”

  Jake sighed. “That’s right, Ramirez’s right-hand man. Ramirez may be dead, but Garcia has wasted no time in taking over his cocaine empire.” Stabbing one finger at the paper, Jake said worriedly, “He’s sending out several professional hit men to get rid of you, Laura and your family.”

  Morgan studied the paper intently. His mouth hardened. “I wish like hell I could remember, Jake. Garcia’s name means nothing to me.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Jake said abruptly. He picked up some photos and handed them to him. “We had a conference this morning, and we feel it best to do two things. This has Dr. Parsons’s approval, by the way.”

  Morgan took the photos. “What’s been decided?” One of the pictures was of a ranch in dry, desertlike surroundings. Another showed a small log cabin near a stream lined with pines and white-barked trees.

  “Your children, Jason and Katherine, are going with Susannah and Sean Killian. They’ll be deep in the woods of Kentucky at a location only I will know about. You and Laura will go into hiding at the Donovan Ranch, in a canyon in central Arizona. You knew Robert Donovan. In fact, his son, Randy, was in your company when it was overrun by the Vietcong. Mr. Donovan and his wife recently died in an auto accident, but his daughters are running the ranch, and they said you and Laura were welcome.”

  His mouth quirking, Morgan looked up. “Laura is going with me?”

  Jake gave him a flat stare. “She’s your wife.”

  Struggling to know how to react, Morgan said nothing.

  Exasperated, Jake growled, “She’s on Garcia’s hit list, too. The son of a bitch is going after all four of you this time. And he’s taking no prisoners, Morgan. I don’t think you want Laura left behind as a target.”

  “Of course not,” Morgan snapped irritably.

  “Look,” Jake said, suddenly weary, “I know you’re not remembering anything. I can’t imagine me not knowing my wife, Shah. I don’t know what the hell I’d do, either, but I know if we were under attack, I’d still want her with me.”

  Angrily, Morgan turned and walked back to the window. “My marriage isn’t any of your business.”

  “I saw the look on your face,” Jake warned, coming over to the window and joining him. He settled his large hands on his narrow hips as he studied Morgan. “Two other people will go with you,” he said slowly. “They’ll stay at the main ranch house, about fifteen miles from this small cabin on Oak Creek.” Jake jabbed a big finger toward the pictures Morgan still held. “Dr. Parsons is going, for obvious reasons. An Army Special Forces officer, Major Mike Houston, who’s had a lot of years in Peru chasing Ramirez and his likes, will accompany you. He’s your professional insurance against an attack by these hit men Garcia’s sending stateside.”

  Morgan inhaled a deep breath, fighting the anger and frustration roiling within him. “Dammit, Jake, I wish I could remember!”

  “Like Ann said, stop trying to remember specifics. Trust your feelings. They’ll eventually open those doors.”

  Glaring at him, Morgan snarled, “Feelings? The only thing I feel is mountain-sized frustration. How do you think I feel when Laura comes to visit and I can read every unhappy emotion on her face?”

  “She’s wounded, too,” Jake reminded him slowly. “Has she talked to you about her capture by Garcia?”

  “Hell, no!”

  “Have you asked?”

  “No…”

  “I think,” Jake growled, “you’re feeling real sorry for yourself, Morgan, for your plight. Maybe I would, too. But you’re being pretty ungrateful about all the help you’re getting, if you ask me.”

  Morgan turned and held Jake’s dark stare. “Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Take the focus off yourself, Morgan. Laura needs you. You’re the only one who can help her,” Jake said huskily. “I don’t care to hear your lament about not remembering her as your wife. Dammit, you have to begin treating her like a human being—somebody who cares enough to come daily to this room to see you—rather than as some inconvenient fixture.”

  His nostrils flaring, Morgan knotted his hands into fists. He took in Jake’s implacable expression, the slashed set of his mouth as he held Morgan’s gaze. “I suppose she’s been running and crying to you.”

  Jake clenched his teeth. “Morgan, you’re being pigheaded, but then, you were always that way, even before the amnesia. No, Laura hasn’t run to me or anyone else. That’s the problem—she’s bottled everything up. Dr. Parsons is really worried about her. Laura has taken too much for too long and has nowhere to safely dump her feelings. You sure as hell haven’t been much help.”

  “She can talk to me if she wants to,” Morgan snapped, moving away from the window. Who the hell did Randolph think he was?

  Jake followed closely. “Morgan, maybe this quiet little cabin in a canyon is exactly what both of you need.”

  Halting at the bed, Morgan shot a look over his shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The old Morgan I know always got back in touch with nature to unwind. The place you’re going was a favorite of yours when you were a young officer in the Marine Corps. It’s isolated, with a lot of wildlife and trout fishing—no people except the ranch hands and owners. Laura needs a break from all of this.”
Jake took the photo of the log cabin and studied it. “Right now, we’re more worried about her deteriorating condition than about you. You’re going to live. You’ve survived the worst, physically speaking.”

  “All right,” Morgan rasped, “I’ll go. I’ll try to help Laura, but there’s no guarantee.”

  Jake dropped the photo on the bed and smiled a little. “I have a hunch that this is exactly what you both need. Mike Houston will be around, but you won’t see him unless he wants you to. He’s a professional soldier, and he’ll make sure Garcia’s hit men don’t get close enough to take a shot at you. Dr. Parsons is coming along more because of Laura’s emotional instability than for your health needs, although Laura doesn’t know that. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything to her.”

  “I’m not the kind of person to deliberately hurt someone,” Morgan snapped.

  A rueful smile pulled at Jake’s mouth. “Morgan, you’re a contrary bastard by nature, but I understand why. The only place in your life where you weren’t like that was with Laura and your kids. With them, you finally exposed your soft underbelly, and that was the only time you did. Take this time at the cabin and let that side of you surface with Laura. You trusted her more than anyone else in your life….”

  “It’s beautiful,” Laura breathed. She stood beside a muddied Jeep driven by Rachel Donovan, the oldest of the three daughters now running the Donovan cattle ranch. In front of them, at the end of the muddy road, stood a log cabin. It wasn’t large, but it was a stone’s throw from the rushing waters of Oak Creek.

  “We think you’ll love it here,” Rachel said cheerily. “It’s been a favorite hideaway for our friends and family over the years.”

  Laura looked hopefully up at Morgan, dressed in a white, long-sleeved shirt and Levi’s. His face had lost a little of its tension as he looked at the cabin. Their flight to Luke Air Force Base near Phoenix, had been long but uneventful, and for that she was grateful. In her peripheral vision, she saw Rachel pick up their luggage. Days earlier, Major Houston and Dr. Parsons had flown out and were already staying at the main ranch. Laura had met Mike and liked him immensely. She knew he had been instrumental in rescuing Morgan from Ramirez in Peru.