by Susan Crose
"Anything else? Sore throat?"
Shaking her short glossy hair, Melinda sighed. "I kept hoping I would get better, but—" She shrugged and the sheet almost slipped from her fingers.
"Well, let me take a look at you. Lie down."
Shawna spent the next fifteen minutes examining Melinda carefully, as the girl nearly jumped off the examination table each time she was touched.
"When was the date of your last menstrual period?" Shawna finally asked, once the examination was over and Melinda was sitting, sheet draped over her on the table.
"I don't know. A couple of months ago, I guess."
"You guess?" Shawna repeated.
"I don't keep track—I'm real irregular."
"How irregular?"
"Well, not every month. A skip around a little."
"Could you be pregnant?"
Melinda's eyes widened and she licked her lips. "I—I don't get sick in the morning. Never in the morning."
Shawna smiled, trying to put the girl at ease. "It's different with everyone. I had a patient who only was sick at night."
Melinda chewed on her lower lip. "I—uh, it's possible, I guess," she whispered.
"Why don't we run a quick test and see?" Shawna asked.
"When will I know?"
"In a little while. I have a friend in the lab. The pregnancy test is relatively easy; but if there's something else, we won't know about it for a couple of days. Now, why don't you try to remember the date of your last period."
Melinda closed her eyes as Shawna drew a small vial of blood from her arm and had a nurse take the filled vial to the lab.
"I don't know. I think it was around the Fourth of July."
Shawna wasn't surprised. All of Melinda's symptoms pointed toward pregnancy. "This is nearly October," she pointed out.
Melinda's lower lip protruded defiantly. "I said I was irregular."
"Okay. No need to worry about it, until we know for sure." She checked her watch. "It's still early— the hospital lab can rush the results if I ask."
"Would you?"
"Sure. You can get dressed and meet me in my office in a few hours—say four o'clock?"
"Fine." Melinda grudgingly reached for her clothes and Shawna, feeling uneasy, left the room.
By the time Shawna returned to her office after seeing the rest of her patients and finished some paperwork, she was ready to call it a day. It was four o'clock and she was anxious to drive to Mercy Hospital to spend some time with Parker.
But first she had to deal with Melinda James.
"Well?" Melinda asked as she plopped into the chair opposite Shawna's desk.
Shawna scanned the report from the lab, then glanced at the anxious girl.
"Your test was positive, Melinda. You're going to have a baby."
Melinda let out a long sigh and ran her fingers through her hair. "I can't believe it," she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction and for the first time Shawna wondered if Melinda had been suspicious of her condition all along. "There's no chance that" —she pointed to the pink report—"is wrong."
"Afraid not."
"Great," Melinda mumbled, blinking back tears.
"I take it this isn't good news."
"The worst! My dad'll kill me!"
"Maybe you're underestimating your dad," Shawna suggested.
"No way!"
"What about the father of your child?" Shawna asked.
Tears flooded the girl's eyes. "The father?" she repeated, swallowing with difficulty and shaking her head.
"He has the right to know."
"He can't," Melinda said, her voice low and final, as if she had no choice in the matter.
"Give him a chance."
Melinda's eyes were bright with tears. "I can't tell him," she said. "He thinks this is all my responsibility. The last thing he wants is a baby."
"You don't know—"
"Oh, yes I do. He said so over and over again."
Shawna handed her a couple of tissues and Me-linda dabbed her eyes but was unable to stem the flow of her tears.
"I—I was careful," she said, blinking rapidly. "But he'll blame me, I know he will!"
"Sometimes a man changes his mind when he's actually faced with the news that he's going to be a father."
"But he can't!" Melinda said harshly, obviously hurting deep inside.
Shawna walked around the desk and placed her arm around the young woman's shaking shoulders. "I don't want to pry," she said evenly. "What's going on between you and the father isn't any of my business—"
"If you only knew," Melinda whispered, glancing at Shawna with red-rimmed eyes, then shifting her gaze. Standing, she pushed away Shawna's arm. "This is my problem," she said succinctly. "I—I'll handle it."
"Try not to think of the baby as a problem, okay?" Shawna advised, reaching for a card from a small holder on her desk. "Take this card—it has Dr. Chambers's number. He's one of the best obstetricians in the city."
"What I need now is a shrink," Melinda said, still sniffing.
"My brother's a psychiatrist," Shawna said quietly, locating one of Jake's business cards. "Maybe you should talk with him—"
Melinda snatched the cards from Shawna's outstretched hand. "I—I'll think about it. After I talk with the father."
Shawna offered the girl an encouraging smile. "That's the first step."
"Just remember—this was your idea!"
"I'll take full responsibility," Shawna replied, but read the message in the young woman's eyes. More clearly than words, Melinda had told her Shawna didn't know what she was saying. Anger and defiance bright in her eyes, Melinda James walked briskly out the door.
Shawna watched her leave and felt the same nagging doubts she had when she'd first talked to the girl. "You can't win 'em all," she told herself thoughtfully as she hung her lab coat in the closet and quickly ran a brush through her hair. But she couldn't shake the feeling that Melinda, despite her vocal doubts, had known she was pregnant all along.
She reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder, but stopped before slipping her arms through her jacket. Feeling a little guilty, she called directory assistance in Cleveland and asked for the number of Harold Rankin, Melinda's pediatrician.
"There are several H. Rankins listed," the operator told her.
"I'm looking for the pediatrician. He must have an office number."
The operator paused. "I'm sorry. There is no Doctor Rankin listed in Cleveland."
"Unlisted? Look, I'm a doctor myself. I need to consult with him about a patient and I don't have his number," Shawna said, new suspicions gnawing at her.
The operator muttered something under her breath. "I really can't—"
"It's important!"
"Well, I guess I can tell you this much, there's no Dr. Harold Rankin listed or unlisted in Cleveland. Just a minute." For a few seconds all Shawna could hear was clicking noises. "I'm sorry—I checked the suburbs. No Dr. Harold Rankin."
"Thank you," Shawna whispered, replacing the receiver. So Melinda had lied—or the doctor had moved. But that was unlikely. Shawna remembered Melinda's first words. "I saw your name in the paper. . . . You're the doctor who's engaged to Parker Harrison, aren't you? . . . He's got amnesia, right?"
Without thinking about what she was doing, Shawna buttoned her jacket and half ran out the door of her office. She waved good-bye to the receptionist, but her mind was filled with Melinda's conversation and the girl's dark grudging glances. No, Melinda James wasn't a reporter, but she was hiding something. Shawna just couldn't figure out what it was.
As she took the elevator down to the underground parking garage, she was alone, her keys gripped in one hand. What did a pregnant eighteen-year-old girl have to do with Parker? she asked herself, suddenly certain she wouldn't like the answer.
❧
Parker's leg throbbed, rebelling against his weight as he attempted to walk the length of the physical therapy room. His hands slipped on the cold metal
bars, but he kept himself upright, moving forward by sheer will. Every rigid, sweat-covered muscle in his body screamed with the strain of dragging his damned leg, but he kept working.
"That's it, just two more steps," a pert therapist with a cheery smile and upturned nose persuaded, trying to encourage him forward.
Gritting his teeth he tried again, the foot slowly lifting from the floor. Pain ripped through his knee and he bit his lower lip, tasting the salt of his sweat. Come on, Harrison, he said to himself, squeezing his eyes shut, do it for Shawna, that beautiful lady doctor who's crazy enough to love you.
In the past few weeks, he'd experienced flashes of memory, little teasing bits which had burned in his mind. He could remember being with her on a sailboat—her tanned body, taut and sleek. She'd been leaning against the boom as the boat skimmed across clear green water. Her blond hair had billowed around her head, shimmering gold in the late afternoon sun, and she'd laughed, a clear sound that rippled across the river.
Even now, as he struggled to the end of the parallel bars, he could remember the smell of fresh water and perfume, the taste of her skin and the feel of her body, warm and damp, as she'd lain with him on the sand of some secluded island.
Had they made love? That one delicious recollection escaped him, rising to the surface only to sink below the murky depths of his memory, as did so much of his life. Though he knew—he could sense-that he'd loved her, there was something else stopping him from believing everything she told him of their life together—something ugly and unnamed and a part of the Brad Lomax tragedy.
"Hey! You've done it!" the therapist cried as Parker took a final agonizing step.
While thinking of the enigma that was his relationship with Shawna, he hadn't realized that he'd finished his assigned task. "I'll be damned," he muttered.
"You know what this means, don't you?" the therapist asked, positioning a wheelchair near one of the contraptions that Parker decided were designed for the sole purpose of human torture.
"What?"
"You're a free man. This is the final test. Now, if your doctor agrees, you can go home and just come back here for our workouts."
Parker wiped the sweat from his eyes and grinned. He'd be glad to leave this place! Maybe once he was home he'd start to remember and he could pick up the pieces of his life with Shawna. Maybe then the dreams of a mystery woman that woke him each night would disappear, and the unknown past would become crystal clear again.
The therapist tossed him a white terry towel and a nurse appeared.
Parker wiped his face, then slung the towel around his neck.
Placing her hands on the handles of the wheelchair, the nurse said, "111 just push you back to your room—"
"I'll handle that," Shawna said. She'd been standing in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the jamb as she watched Parker will himself through the therapy. She'd witnessed the rigid strength of his sweat-dampened shoulders and arms, seen the flinch of pain as he tried to walk, and recognized the glint of determination in his eyes as he inched those final steps to the end of the bars.
"If you're sure, Doctor—" the nurse responded, noting Shawna's identification tag.
"Very sure." Then she leaned over Parker's shoulder and whispered, "Your place or mine?"
He laughed then. Despite the throb of pain in his knee and his anguish of not being able to remember anything of his past, he laughed. "Get me out of here."
"Your wish is my command." Without further prompting, she rolled him across the polished floors of the basement hallway and into the waiting elevator, where the doors whispered closed. "Alone at last," she murmured.
"What did I do to deserve you?" he asked, glancing up at her, his eyes warm and vibrant.
Her heart constricted and impulsively she jabbed the stop button before leaning over and pressing her lips to his. "You have been, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to me," she said, swallowing back a thick lump in her throat. "You showed me there was more to life than medical files, patient charts, and trying to solve everyone else's problems."
"I can't believe—"
"Of course not," she said, laughing and guessing that he was going to argue with her again, tell her he didn't deserve her love. "You've been right all along, Parker," she confided. "Everything I've been telling you is a lie. You don't deserve me at all. It's just that I'm a weak, simple female and you're so strong and sexy and macho!"
"Is that so?" he asked, strong arms dragging her into his lap.
She kissed him again, lightly this time. "Well, isn't that what you wanted to hear?"
"Sounded good," he admitted.
Cocking her head to one side, her blond hair falling across his shoulder, she grinned slowly. "Well, the strong and sexy part is true."
"But somehow I don't quite see you as a 'weak, simple female.' "
"Thank heaven. So just believe that you're the best thing in my life, okay? And no matter what happens, I'm never going to take the chance of losing you again!"
"You won't," he murmured, pulling her closer, claiming her lips with a kiss so intense her head began to spin. She forgot the past and the future. She could only concentrate on the here and now, knowing in her heart the one glorious fact that Parker, her beloved Parker, was holding her and kissing her as hungrily as he had before the accident—as if he did indeed love her all over again.
Her breath caught deep in her lungs and inside, she was warming, feeling liquid emotion rush through her veins. She felt his hands move over her, rustling the lining of her skirt to splay against her back, hold her in that special, possessive manner that bound them so intimately together. Delicious, wanton sensations whispered through her body and she tangled her hands in his hair.
"Oh, what you do to me," he whispered in a voice raw and raspy as his fingers found the hem of her sweater and moved upward to caress one swollen breast. Hot and demanding, his fingers touched the soft flesh and Shawna moaned softly as ripples of pleasure ran like wildfire through her blood.
"Parker, please—" She cradled his head against her, feeling the warmth of his breath touch her skin. His lips teased one throbbing peak, his tongue moist as it caressed the hard little button.
Shawna was melting inside. Rational thought ceased and she was only aware of him and the need he created.
"Oh, Shawna," he groaned, slowly releasing her, his eyes still glazed with passion as a painful memory sizzled through his desire. "You're doing it again," he whispered, rubbing his temple as if it throbbed. "Shawna—stop!"
She had trouble finding her breath. Her senses were still spinning out of control and she stung from his rejection. Why was he pulling away from her? "What are you talking about?"
Passion-drugged eyes drilled into hers. "I remember, Shawna."
Relieved, she smiled. Everything was going to be fine. She tried to stroke his cheek but he jerked away. "Then you know how much we loved each—"
"I remember that you teased me, pushed me to the limit in public places. Like this."
"Parker, what are you talking about?" she cried, devastated. What was he saying? If he remembered, then surely he'd know how much she cared.
"It's not all clear," he admitted, helping her to her feet. "But there were times, just like this, when you drove me out of my mind!" He reached up and slapped the control panel. The elevator started with a lurch and Shawna nearly lost her footing.
"I don't understand—" she whispered.
The muscles of his face tautened. "Remember the fair?" he said flatly. "At the fir tree?"
She gasped, recalling rough bark against her bare back, his hands holding her wrists, their conversation about his "mistress."
"It was only a game we played," she said weakly.
"Some game." His eyes, still smoldering with the embers of recent passion, avoided hers. "You know, somehow I had the impression that you and I loved each other before—that we were lovers. You let me think that." His eyes were as cold as the sea.
"We
were," she said, then recognized the censure in the set of his jaw. "Well, almost. We'd decided to wait to get married before going to bed."
Arching a brow disdainfully, he said through clenched teeth, "We decided? You're a doctor. I'm a tennis pro. Neither one of us is a kid and you expect me to believe that we were playing the cat-and-mouse game of waiting 'til the wedding."
"You said you remembered," she whispered, but then realized his memory was fuzzy. Certain aspects of their relationship were still blurred.
"I said I remembered part of it." But the anger in his words sounded hollow and unsure, as if he were trying to find an excuse to deny the passion between them only moments before.
The elevator car jerked to a stop and the doors opened on the fourth floor. Shawna, her breasts still aching, reached for the handles of the wheelchair, but Parker didn't wait for her. He was already pushing himself down the corridor.
In the room, she watched him shove the wheelchair angrily aside and flop onto the bed, his face white from the effort.
"You're memory is selective," she said, leaning over the bed, pushing her face so close to his that she could read the seductive glint in his blue eyes.
"Maybe," he admitted and stared at her lips, swallowing with difficulty.
"Then why won't you just try to give us a chance? We were good together, sex or no sex. Believe me." She heard him groan.
"Don't do this to me," he asked, the fire in his eyes rekindling.
"I'll do whatever I have to," she whispered, leaning closer, kissing him, brushing the tips of her breasts across his chest until he couldn't resist.
"You're making a big mistake." He pressed her close to him.
"Let me."
"I'm not the same man—"
"I don't care, damn it," she said, then sighed. "Just love me."
"That would be too easy," he admitted gruffly, then buried his face in her hair, drinking in the sweet feminine smell that teased at his mind every night. He held her so fiercely she could feel the heat of his body through her clothes. Clinging to him, she barely heard the shuffle of feet in the doorway until Parker dragged his lips from hers and stared over her shoulder.