But she looked so vulnerable, lying there asleep, that he couldn’t resist reaching for her hand, fingers curled like a half-opened blossom atop the blanket. At the contact with her warm, smooth skin, testosterone bucked through his blood like an untamed mustang.
When the doctor entered, Wade jerked his hand away and blushed like a green adolescent caught necking on the porch.
Dr. Sinclair, a tiny, birdlike woman with enough nervous energy to power a city, marched to the bed and checked Rachel’s pulse. She removed a penlight from the pocket of her white coat, lifted Rachel’s eyelids and examined her pupils.
Straightening as if her back ached, the doctor brushed a strand of salt-and-pepper hair from her forehead and confronted Wade. “Did she speak to you?”
“Briefly.” Long enough for him to learn her voice was as soft as a mountain breeze.
“Was she lucid?”
“She was rational, if that’s what you mean.”
The doctor’s shrewd gaze skewered him. “What aren’t you telling me, Mr. Garrett?”
“Her memory’s gone.”
Her intense blue eyes behind gold-framed glasses gave nothing away, and she gestured toward the door.
He followed her into the hall before posing his question. “Is it a brain injury?”
Dr. Sinclair shook her head and stuffed her stethoscope into her pocket. “CAT scan and EEG are both normal, now that her concussion is subsiding.”
He rammed his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t expected this crimp in his plans. He should have been halfway home by now, as he’d promised Jordan, but how could he leave Rachel alone and frightened, not knowing who she was? “Why can’t she remember?”
“She suffered a bad bump on the back of her head. Amnesia caused by physical trauma should clear up within a couple of days.”
He expelled a sigh of relief. “So she’ll be all right?”
“Unless we’re dealing with hysteria.”
He frowned. “She seemed calm enough. But she did shed a few tears.”
Dr. Sinclair smiled and shook her head. “Not that kind of hysteria. Amnesia caused by psychological trauma. Imagine what she experienced, plunging into that deep ravine in a tumbling, burning railroad car.”
Wade nodded. Rachel had been air-lifted to Libby, partly because Wade was there, but mostly because the Kalispell hospital was filled to capacity with other wreck victims. He jerked his wandering attention back to the doctor.
“Her mind may be protecting her from reexperiencing that nightmare by shutting down her memories.”
“But she’ll get them back?”
Sinclair patted his hand, reminding him of his long-dead mother. “In a few days, if her memory loss is due to physical trauma.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“When she’s strong enough to face the memories.”
“Soon?”
The little doctor shrugged. “Maybe the next time she awakens, maybe in a few days.” Her voice had an upward inflection, hinting of things left unsaid.
“Or?”
Dr. Sinclair avoided his eyes. “Maybe never.”
“Never? But you said there’s no permanent injury to her brain—”
“In spite of medical advances, many mysteries of the human mind are still unsolved.” Her smile didn’t hide her weariness. “But you’re worrying prematurely. She may recall everything when she awakes again.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Her memories could come rushing back anytime, or they could return gradually in bits and pieces.”
He glanced into the room at the sleeping Rachel. If she didn’t remember soon, she’d be in for a rough time. She’d need care, attention and reassurance. The prospect of providing for her warmed him—until his common sense kicked in.
Feelings played no part in their relationship, and Jordan was enough to worry about. Rachel was supposed to ease his troubles, not add to them.
He hardened his heart and looked away. No point in worrying about what only time could cure. He glanced at his watch. If he hurried, he might reach home before Jordan’s bedtime. “What about her family?”
Dr. Sinclair shook her head. “The local authorities traced her to Atlanta, then back to Missouri. Her parents are deceased. She was their only child.”
“No aunts or uncles, cousins?”
The doctor shook her head. “Not that they could find.”
“What about close friends?”
“There’s no one.”
The tenderness he’d tried to suppress surged through him. “Poor kid.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Dr. Sinclair patted his hand again. “After all, she has you.”
Chapter Two
“Rachel.”
Sitting up in bed, she shaped the alien name with her lips, but it lacked familiarity.
She grimaced in disgust. So what else was new? Nothing seemed familiar. Nothing except her face in the mirror. She choked back a derisive laugh. What a big help. She recognized herself.
When she’d awakened this morning, she’d thought at first she’d dreamed Wade Garrett and her amnesia, until she had to admit her encounter with Wade was the only memory she possessed.
He’d said they weren’t related and had never met. But who was he?
Some religious zealot dedicating his life to visiting the sick? She quickly rejected that idea. The man had too much devil in his deep brown eyes.
Maybe he was a plainclothes policeman. Had she been fleeing some crime when her train crashed? After her heart stopped thundering in her chest, she discarded that possibility, too. Although she couldn’t remember, she could still feel, and she didn’t feel like a criminal.
In frustration, she pounded her pillow with her fists. No use wondering who Wade Garrett was when she’d probably never see him again.
The thought gave her no comfort.
“Rachel. Rachel O’Riley.”
She repeated the name, hoping to trigger a response, but her mind remained a wasteland, barren of any recollection except the most mundane.
“The doctor says fresh air will do you good.” Wade Garrett lounged in the doorway of her room, one elbow propped against the doorjamb, the thumb of his other hand tucked in the low-slung waistband of his jeans.
His sudden appearance delighted and annoyed her, immobilizing her with indecision. “Who are you?”
His intriguing face crumpled with dismay. “Don’t you remember?”
“I know you’re Wade Garrett,” she said with impatience, “but what do you have to do with me?”
“You feel up to a walk around the grounds?” His slow smile heated up the room.
“If I walk with you, will you answer my question?”
He regarded her solemnly for a moment, then nodded.
A younger, more handsome version of the Marlboro Man, that’s who he reminded her of, with his chiseled features, sun-streaked hair and wind-burned skin. Another useless bit of information remembered. She clenched her fists in frustration at the quickening of her pulse and the flush that seared her cheeks.
Hoping to fill the emptiness with his presence, she couldn’t deny she’d been waiting for him all morning. But only for what he could tell her, she assured herself. Her racing blood and somersaulting stomach at the sight of the stranger were due strictly to her thirst for information. Neither Dr. Sinclair nor the nurses would tell her anything, but maybe Wade could furnish the facts she couldn’t recall.
She forced a smile with more bravery than she felt. After all, he’d promised answers. “I’d take you up on that walk, but my legs are a bit shaky.”
They’d gotten a whole lot shakier since he arrived.
His gaze scanned her legs, from the bottom of her short hospital gown to her ankles, crossed atop the covers. “They look fine to me.”
Her misgivings melted as the heat in his dark eyes transferred to the pit of her stomach. In a futile effort, she tugged at the hem of her gown. No sense going all warm and snuggly over Wade
Garrett, when, for all she knew, she had a husband and three kids somewhere, waiting for her to come home.
Home.
Where was home? And what was she doing here, fighting the desire to throw herself into a tall stranger’s arms and have him take care of her?
She swung her legs off the bed on the side away from Wade and tugged on the shapeless cotton robe the hospital had provided. Shaky legs or not, she’d accompany him until he’d given her some explanations. She slid her feet into frumpy hospital slippers and stood on wobbly limbs.
In an instant, Wade was beside her, gripping her elbow to steady her. “Lean on me.”
She jumped at his touch and would have fallen if he hadn’t grabbed her.
What was the matter with her? Why had she hopped like water on a hot griddle at the pressure of his hand? She glanced into bottomless brown eyes that registered his confusion at her reaction. He’d offered a simple gesture of help and thoughtful words. She’d responded as if he’d electrocuted her.
Bewilderment brought tears to her eyes. She dashed them away with the back of her hand. Undeterred, Wade reached for her elbow again, but she shook off his assistance, hesitant to be indebted to a man she knew nothing about.
“I’ll be okay.” She didn’t sound convincing, even to herself.
Ignoring her protest, he slid an arm around her waist and bore the brunt of her weight. She would have protested further, but without his support, her legs would have buckled.
With Wade’s help, she shuffled into the hallway. He nodded toward the exit at the end of the hall. “The hospital garden’s just past those doors.”
She traversed the hall, aware of the searing heat of Wade’s strong hip pressed against her torso. She forced weak muscles to carry her forward, and Wade matched his pace to hers. When she stepped from beneath the entrance portico, morning sunlight toasted her face, banishing the chill of air conditioning.
If only it could unlock her memories as well.
She glanced up at the stranger at her side, hoping he held the key to who she was. If he did, he exhibited no haste to reveal it. A shiver joined the trembling in her legs. Maybe he was hiding something, something she wouldn’t want to hear.
She chastised herself for her fears. Surely nothing could be worse than not knowing. She’d make him tell. The sooner the better.
Bolstered by Wade’s strong arm, she ambled along the brick path through elliptical pools of shade cast by tall Douglas firs. Intent on the enigmatic man at her side, she spared only a cursory glance for the deep purple petunias and mounds of white alyssum that bordered the walk.
When they reached a concrete bench set back from the path under a small maple, he steadied her as she sat, then stepped away.
She drew the cotton robe around her and confronted him. “Isn’t it time you answered my questions?”
Seemingly unperturbed by her abruptness, he dropped to the ground with a natural gracefulness, leaned back against the bench and stared across the garden. She couldn’t see his eyes, only the angle of his cheek and the silky texture of sun-bleached hair that brushed the top of his collar. A twitching muscle in his jaw betrayed his calm.
“What do you want to know?” Something in his even tone hinted at emotions held firmly in check.
She looked around in confusion at the pine-covered hills rising beyond the river toward a range of snow-capped mountains in the distance. “Where am I?”
“You’re just outside Libby.”
“Where’s that?”
“Northwest Montana.”
“Do I live here?”
“You were traveling to your new home at Longhorn Lake, less than an hour west of here.”
Montana didn’t seem familiar, but then nothing else did, either. Her most pressing question concerned her identity. She leaned forward until she could watch his expression. “Who am I?”
His eyes glowed briefly with a curious longing before he looked away. “You’re Rachel O’Riley.”
“That’s only a name. Who am I?”
He shifted toward her, grasped her fists clenched on her lap and smoothed her fingers open with a gentleness unexpected in such a big man. “You’re coiled tighter than a spring. Dr. Sinclair says you mustn’t get worked up over this.”
“How can I not—”
“Shh.” He lifted his index finger to her lips, creating an unaccustomed tingle along the sensitive skin. “If you promise to relax, I promise to answer any questions I can.”
His composure irritated her, but his unyielding expression convinced her to follow his instructions. She inhaled, drawing in the resinous scent of evergreens and the fragrance of unfamiliar flowers on the cool mountain air. Slowly, her tension eased.
“That’s better.” He released her hands with a nod of satisfaction, but his eyes held a burning, distant look, as if he wished he was anywhere but there.
She resisted the urge to grab his hand again, yearning for his touch to drive away her lack of connection to anyone or anything. “Please, tell me about myself, my family, what I’m doing here.”
“You’re twenty-eight years old. You grew up in Missouri.” With a calm she envied, he ticked off the facts on long, capable fingers with clean, square nails. “You’re an only child. Both your parents died years ago in an automobile accident.”
His words generated no response.
No memories.
No pain.
He scanned her face as if looking for signs of the recognition she longed for, but she couldn’t reveal what wasn’t there. For all the impact his words had, he could have been talking about a total stranger.
“And after my parents died?” she prodded.
“A few years ago you sold your home in Missouri and moved to Atlanta.”
The breeze changed direction, gusting across Wade, carrying a pleasantly masculine scent of leather and soap and lifting his hair to expose a high, wide forehead, slightly less tanned than his cheeks.
Had she lost her mind as well as her memories? She should be concentrating on the missing facts of her life, not the all-too-fascinating man before her.
“Did I have a job in Atlanta?” She silently cursed the breathlessness in her voice.
Wade didn’t seem to notice, but if he did, she hoped he blamed it on curiosity. “You worked as a paralegal in a firm that practiced corporate law.”
Corporate law? When she drew another blank at the term, her frustration grew, and she had to force herself to relax again. “What about the rest of my family?”
He shook his head and compassion glittered in his eyes. “There’s nobody. The hospital’s had the authorities searching for next of kin ever since you were brought here. After the accident.”
As if uneasy, he shifted and assessed her with a wary eye, but again she experienced nothing except curiosity in reaction to his words. “What accident?”
“Your train derailed west of Kalispell. You were airlifted to the hospital here.”
So far, he’d given her only fragments of her life, certainly not enough for her to piece together her identity, but too much for a total stranger to know. “How do you know so much about me?”
He shrugged, and the compassion in his face gave way to discomfort. “I learned most of it from your letters.”
“Letters? Like the one you showed me yesterday?”
He nodded, then sat unmoving, almost as if holding his breath.
She studied his face with more care than before, seeing past the composed veneer to a restless energy beneath. “Do I know you?”
“We’ve never met.”
Confusion made her head ache. “Then why was I writing to you?”
“Maybe the rest can wait.” He avoided her eyes.
His evasiveness alarmed her and made her pulse quicken. The rest had been dry facts, meaningless, but she could tell from the tension in his posture that this answer was crucial. “Tell me now. Why was I writing to someone I’ve never met?”
He raised his head and caught her in the po
werful gaze of eyes so deep and murky she could have drowned in them.
“Because you were going to marry me.”
WADE SCRAMBLED to his feet and caught the fainting Rachel before she slid off the bench. As he jogged back toward the building with her in his arms, her thick lashes brushed cheeks gone pale, and her warm, supple body bounced, featherlight, against his chest. A fierce protectiveness flared deep in his gut, white-hot with forgotten longing.
You scared her to death, you dadburned fool. Maybe her promise to marry you is something she doesn’t want to remember.
The automatic door glided open at his approach. He rushed past the nurses’ station to her room and laid her on the bed. Drawing the covers to hide her long, sculpted legs, slender hips and the firm, round curves of her breasts from his covetous glance, he stepped back and shoved hands that ached to touch her into his pockets.
He was acting like such a damned idiot, no wonder she’d fainted at the thought of marrying him. Between the train wreck and her amnesia, she’d already suffered too many shocks. News of their engagement had been the last straw. Guilt seeped through him for telling her so abruptly.
And tenderness followed as he noted the sweet curve of her cheek against the pillow, reminding him of countless times he’d carried a sleeping Jordan to his room and tucked him in without waking him.
Ah, Jordan. I thought I’d worked out everything for you, and now look what I’ve gone and done.
“Will she be okay?” He shifted aside for the nurse to check Rachel.
Rachel’s lids fluttered, and she opened her eyes. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
The nurse concurred with Rachel’s assessment. “But no more outings until tomorrow. In the meantime, rest.”
Rachel propped herself on her elbows, watched the door close behind the nurse, then turned amazing emerald eyes toward him. “Sorry if I worried you. I’m fine, really.”
Weak with relief, he grinned. “Coulda fooled me. I thought you’d gone into cardiac arrest at the mention of marriage.”
Montana Mail-Order Wife Page 2