THE HUSBAND SHE COULDN'T REMEMBER

by Maggie Shayne

  Ollie groaned contently and snuggled closer, while Penny found herself a notepad and a pencil, and began to list her newfound relatives and, beside each name, the reasons why it was so hard to believe any one of them had been involved in trying to get rid of her.

  The Texas Ranger kept looking at him, and Dr. Barlow didn't like the suspicion in the man's eyes. "And you say your name is…?"

  "Jenkins," Dr. Barlow lied. "Now, I know my wife has been here. Please, sir, if you know where she is, just tell me. She's seriously ill, and—"

  "She didn't look ill to me, sir."

  Barlow went still, eyes narrowing. "Then you have seen her?"

  The Ranger nodded, but the doctor noticed the way he pressed his lips together. As if mentally telling them not to say any more. "I saw the woman in this photo, yes. But I have no idea who she is or where she is."

  "Where was she when you saw her?"

  "In a car."

  "Heading in what direction?"

  "Sittin' still." The Ranger picked up a pen and tapped it on his desk. "You want to file a missing-persons report on her?" he asked, and he reached for a form. "Just need to see some ID, then you can give me her full name and—"

  "No, no, I don't think that will be necessary." Barlow couldn't show him identification, much less give him Penny's real name. In case she hadn't figured it out on her own yet, then the fewer people who knew, the better. But he still had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach … a feeling that he knew where to look next.

  "Tell you what," the Ranger said with a helpful smile. "You tell me where you're stayin' while you're in town, and I'll give you a call if she turns up."

  "Thank you kindly," Barlow said in a drawling imitation of the officer's semicharming accent. "But I believe I'll call you instead. Simpler, you know. What with me being on the road, as I am at present."

  "Fine by me." The Ranger glanced at the phone on his desk for the third time.

  Dr. Barlow had an inkling the man was in a hurry for him to leave so he could place a call. And he had no doubt the call would be about him, and his interest in finding Penny Brand. He was glad he'd used a false name, then, though it wouldn't do much good. She'd have advance warning. Time to run away and hide from him again.

  The problem was, there wasn't a thing he could do to stop the man from placing that phone call. So he guessed he'd just have to track her down before she had the chance to run away again.

  Ben went outside to help with morning chores, which had been delayed already by all the excitement. He came back a couple of hours later, walked into the house, glanced around and didn't see Penny. He did see the morning paper and a handful of coffee mugs scattered across the kitchen table, though. He hastily cleared up the mess, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Penny had always hated clutter. She'd been a neat freak of the highest order.

  Chelsea came into the kitchen when she heard the cups rattling. "How you doing, Ben?"

  He gave a distracted shake of his head. "Where's Penny?"

  "Still up in Jessi's room."

  He instantly got worried. "I knew it. She wasn't feeling as good as she tried to make us all think. If she's been in bed all this time, she must be…" He didn't finish. Just swallowed hard, closed the dishwasher and started for the doorway.

  "Ben, I don't think she's been in bed. And, um, she could probably use some time alone."

  He flinched as if she'd slapped him. "She's had two years to be alone for crying—" Biting his lip, he closed his eyes slowly. "Sorry, Chelsea. I had no call to snap at you that way."

  "You're frustrated," she said. "It's understandable."

  He shook his head. "I've been thinking about it, Chelsea. And I think—hell, I just have to be patient. She'll remember me once she's been home awhile. I know she will."

  She studied him as if studying a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. "What if she doesn't, Ben?"

  "She will."

  Drawing a slow breath, Chelsea took a mug from the tree on the counter and filled it with coffee. She added fresh cream from the fridge, gave the brew a stir and then set the mug on the table. "Sit down, Ben. Give her a few more minutes. I want to talk to you."

  He didn't want to sit down. He didn't like the look in Chelsea's eyes. Like she was about to pop the big bright balloon he'd so carefully created for himself, the one filled with the hopes he'd told himself not to let in. Too late. It had been too late the second he'd looked into Penny's brown eyes. He had to hope, dammit. He had nothing but hope right now.

  He sat down, only because he wasn't sure what he was going to say to Penny when he went to her. Maybe he'd think of something in the next few minutes. He didn't want to tell her about her condition. Not yet. He wanted to pretend it didn't exist.

  And it would be easy. God, she looked so healthy.

  Not that hope. Not that one, come on, Ben, don't dig yourself in too deep here.

  "You're not a headshrinker just yet," he reminded Chelsea when she sipped her own coffee and eyed him over the top of the cup.

  "No, but I'm the closest thing to one you've got at the moment." She took another sip. They were alone in the house. Through the kitchen window Ben could see Wes outside, holding little Bubba in front of him in the saddle as he headed out to check the fence lines. Taylor rode beside him, dark hair flying. The others had all gone.

  "You know I only want the best for you, Ben," Chelsea said. "And I really hope Penny's memory comes back on its own. But I think you need to consider the possibility that it might not happen that way."

  He lowered his gaze, staring at the caramel-colored coffee. Chelsea knew him well enough to make it just the right shade. So she ought to know him well enough to realize he wouldn't accept what she was saying if he didn't want to. And he didn't want to, dammit.

  "We don't have any idea what caused the amnesia," she went on. "Until she sees a doctor or we get a look at her medical records, we won't know, Ben. And even when we do, we may not be able to guess whether her memory will come back. We might very well have to just wait and see."

  "She'll remember," Ben said.

  "Okay, maybe she will." Chelsea slid her hands over Ben's, where he clutched the handle of his cup. "But in case she doesn't, Ben, maybe you ought to try the idea on, see if it's something you can deal with. She might come back someday, or maybe she never will. You have to start over, Ben, right now. Get to know who she is, and don't expect her to be who she was."

  He set his cup down and pushed away from the table. "Who she is," he said softly, "is a woman who doesn't know me and probably wouldn't like me much if she did. Who she was, is a woman who loved me. Now, if you were in my shoes, Chelsea, which one do you think you'd be looking to find behind those brown eyes. Hmm?"

  "Who you'd rather find doesn't make any difference. She can't be a person she doesn't remember, no matter how badly you might want her to be."

  "She'll remember," he said. And he got to his feet.

  Chelsea sighed and got up, as well. "I hope so." But she didn't look real hopeful about it. "Meanwhile she looks to be about my size. I've sorted out a pile of clothes for her. They're in the basket in my room."

  Ben felt badly for being short with Chelsea. The woman was sweet as honey, and her heart was spilling over with enough love for every Brand on this place and any strays that wandered in, besides. "That was thoughtful of you, Chelsea. Thanks."

  She shrugged. "There are still some of Jessi's clothes in her room, but I figured they'd all be a good six inches too long. We petites have to stick together." She sent him a wink.

  Ben headed through the living room and up the stairs. He stopped off in Chelsea and Garrett's room, the master bedroom that used to belong to his parents. The basket sat just inside the door heaped with jeans and blouses and other things, all neatly folded. He scooped it up, and moved on down the hall all the way to the end. The room next to his had been his baby sister's. Now it was his wife's, and he could hear music coming from beyond it. The radio, he guessed. So
mething to fill the silence. He knew that need to have noise around to drown out the scream of loneliness. Feeling like a schoolkid and hating it, he raised his big hand and tapped gently. "Come in," she called.

  Ben opened the door and stepped inside. And then he just stood there, feeling like a hapless traveler who'd stumbled into the twilight zone. The music was loud, the beat driving, the lyrics sexy as hell, or at least they were if he was understanding them right, and he was only getting about every other word. The bathroom door stood ajar, and he could see wet towels and puddles on the floor in there. Out here, in the bedroom, the clothes Penny had been wearing were flung haphazardly over the back of a chair. An empty teacup lay on its side on the bedside stand. The bedcovers looked like a wrestling match had just taken place on the bed.

  Penny wore Jessi's old bathrobe. She was down on all fours, holding an alarm clock in both hands and pulling for all she was worth. The cord stretched out straight from the clock, and Ben had to step farther inside to see what was on the other end, though he could have guessed.

  That stubby bulldog held the cord in her teeth, pulling hard and snarling like a pit bull with a toothache.

  It threw him. All of it.

  He set the basket on the bed, and then reached over to flick the radio off. "You need some help there?" he asked. "Your dog sounds like she's going to take your hand off any minute."

  "Olive would never hurt me. She just won't give back the clock, and I'm afraid she'll ruin it." She tugged. Olive growled louder and tugged back.

  Everything in him wanted to scoop Penny off that floor before she hurt herself, but he'd already figured out that kind of thing would irritate her—now. Didn't use to.

  When she was sick, she'd come to depend on his taking care of her.

  But he resisted the urge. "Try setting the clock down," he suggested instead.

  Penny stopped tugging, and turned to frown up at him. It hit him like a kick to the breadbasket, because her soft brown curls were hanging in her eyes, and she wrinkled up her nose when she scowled up at him like that. He wanted to kiss her. Instead, he cleared his throat and tried to swallow.

  Then she nodded. "Okay, it's worth a try. Here you go, Ollie. I surrender." She put the clock on the floor.

  Olive immediately dropped the cord and sat very politely, tilting her head at Penny as if to ask why she'd given up so easily.

  Penny picked up the clock, and the dog snatched the cord and began tugging and growling again.

  "It's a game," Ben said. "She's playing with you."

  Shaking her head, Penny put the clock on the floor again, and Olive dropped the cord, looking disappointed. "She's the craziest dog I've ever had."

  "Probably the only dog you've ever had," Ben said. Penny turned, looking at him with lifted brows. "You were always a cat person," he told her. "You put up with old Blue, but you always said it was only because he'd been living here longer than you. Said you'd rather have cats."

  Penny tilted her head. "That's funny."

  "Why?"

  She blinked and pushed the hair out of her eyes. "When I found her … I don't know, I got the feeling I'd always wanted a dog."

  She was right. She had wanted one, but she'd refused when he'd wanted to bring her a puppy. Because she'd known she was dying. And she didn't want a pet who would become too attached to her or dependent on her. So she'd stuck with arrogant barn cats who tended to hang around for a month or two and then move on to greener pastures.

  "Anyway," she went on, "now I'd rather have dogs."

  "I can see that." And he thought that once she knew … once he told her, she might change her mind about keeping Ollie. And then she looked at the dog, and there was something so genuine in her eyes that it made his own burn.

  She got to her feet and turned to glance at her reflection in the vanity mirror. "I'm different now, aren't I?" she asked him.

  He glanced at the towels and puddles on the bathroom floor. She used to be so tidy. But she obviously wasn't anymore. And she used to like country music, soft and low. But that seemed to have changed, as well.

  She used to love me, he thought vaguely. And then closed the door on those thoughts. They'd do him no good now. "I haven't been around you enough to tell for sure," he said. "You might be a little different."

  "I'm a lot different." She turned to face him, leaning her hips and hands back against the vanity. "Must be a real letdown to you."

  "You're alive, Penny. How could that possibly be a letdown?"

  "If it's not, then why do you look like that? What's wrong, Ben?" She studied him with sharp, probing eyes.

  What, besides the fact that I'm standing here talking to my wife as if she's a total stranger?

  "Nothing," he said. "I, uh, brought you some things." He nodded toward the basket on the bed. "Chelsea sorted through her closets for you." He stuffed his hands into his pockets, mainly to keep himself from touching her.

  "That was really kind of her." Penny walked to the bed and pawed some of the clothes in the basket. "I'm glad," she said. "Jessi said I could use her stuff, but this robe is way too big for me."

  "Jessi's a bit more than a size six, petite."

  Penny looked at him quickly, a flash of surprise in her eyes for just a moment before she blinked slowly and banked it. "It seems strange that you know so much about me."

  "That's funny," he told her. "It seems strange to me how little I know about you now."

  She turned, sat down on the edge of the bed. "This has to be pretty hard for you."

  He stood closer, reached down to take hold of her hand, and as he held it, his thumb glided lazily up and down the back of it. "I've done hard before, Penny. I can handle it. And I'm well aware it's twice as hard for you."

  "I don't know about that." She cleared her throat, and he thought she'd pull her hand away. But she didn't. Instead she studied it, enfolded within his. "I had no expectations when I came here. And your family has been more welcoming than I could have hoped for. But I've just been … just been a huge disappointment to all of you." She lowered her head, shook it. "Maybe it would have been better if I'd stayed away."

  Ben moved forward impulsively, cupping her chin in his hand and tilting her head up, and then forcibly resisting the urge to kiss her lips just once. He'd missed her taste so much, dreamed of kissing her again. But he knew he couldn't do that. Not now. Or … not yet.

  "Don't say that, Penny. You belong here. This is your home, and everyone here is family."

  "Maybe they were once," she said, looking around her. "Now, I don't know." She met his gaze again. "Ben … your family … did they always like me as much as they seem to now?"

  He frowned. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

  She averted her eyes, and he got the feeling she was hiding something. Or maybe just not saying everything she was thinking. "I mean I couldn't have been perfect. No one is. They're all being really sweet, but I can't help but wonder … if I had any … unresolved issues with any of them."

  His frown grew deeper. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was on one of her fishing expeditions, probing a witness for clues the way she used to when she was sixteen and seeing a conspiracy around every corner.

  He touched her cheek, just with his forefinger, and turned her face toward his so he could look for the telltale mischief in her eyes. But she kept lowering her lids so he couldn't be sure if it was there.

  "Penny, you never had a quarrel with anyone in this family, unless it was with Wes for leaving the seat up in the bathroom or Jessi for getting into your favorite lipstick. They love you just as much as I…" Ben bit his lip, averted his eyes. "They love you, Penny."

  "Loved me," she said softly, and when he glanced her way she was looking into his eyes and there was something there in hers. Longing, he thought, and it made his stomach convulse. And then she looked away.

  "Give it some time," he told her. "You'll feel better once your memory starts coming back … and I'm convinced it will come back, Penny."
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  "Maybe … I just hope it doesn't turn me back into the woman who needed waiting on hand and foot."

  "What makes you think you were like that?" he asked quickly. Had someone let something slip?

  She shrugged. "The way everyone seems to want to wait on me hand and foot now," she said. "Especially you. Why is that, Ben?"

  "I always … liked taking care of you." He searched her face. "You never minded it before."

  She frowned at that. And he wondered if he'd said the wrong thing.

  "So when do I get my tour?"

  He thought she asked just to change the subject. "After lunch, if you—"

  "If I feel up to it, I know."

  He had to stop saying that. She seemed almost offended by it. "If you don't mind waiting until after we eat," he said instead.

  "Depends. When do we eat?"

  "Just as soon as you can get yourself dressed and downstairs."

  She glanced down at the floor where Olive sat patiently beside the chewed-up clock cord, watching the two of them and waiting for someone to take up her challenge again. "Can Ollie come with us?"

  "Does she chase cattle?" Ben glanced up from the dog to Penny.

  Penny shrugged. "I honestly don't know."

  Damn, but she didn't like the idea of being away from the funny-looking dog for a minute. He could tell by the look in her eyes. How did she get so attached to the animal?

  Maybe, he thought, because she hadn't had anyone else. "I guess we can rig up a leash for her and take her along."

  Penny nodded, looking relieved. "Okay."

  He stood there a second longer. It was so hard to leave. So hard, when all he wanted to do was hold her, kiss her, tell her how glad he was she'd come back to him. Make the most of whatever time he could have with her.

  And beyond that, he had so many questions … unanswered questions. His mind was hopping with them, but it would do no good to ask her. She couldn't know the answers.

  Her gaze lowered, dancing across his lips for the briefest moment, making him wonder if she was feeling some of the same things … and he felt his blood heat. Then he made himself get to his feet, turn toward the door.