A muffled bark made him turn back to see Olive sitting at his feet, behind him. She had the alarm clock in her mouth, and when he looked down she shook it as if she were trying to scramble its insides. He reached for the clock, and the fat little dog immediately crouched and began growling, daring him to try to take it from her.
Ben shook his head and smiled grudgingly. "She's cuter than any old cat anyway," he said.
"I'm glad you think so, seeing as how she's about to multiply."
Ben looked at Penny with his brows raised. Then he sighed slowly and eyed the dog once more. "I guess we had better buy some more alarm clocks."
* * *
Chapter 6
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Ben led Penny all around the house first, then took her outside to show her the barn and the stable, and the pasture where the horses grazed. Aside from a dull headache, she felt no reaction to the place other than admiration. It was beautiful.
He led her back to the house, sat her down on the porch swing and took a seat beside her. "Surely you remember this?" he asked her.
It was probably the tenth time he'd uttered the phrase, and it was getting to her. "No," she said as she'd said each time he'd asked it, and she knew fully well he'd next tell her exactly why she should remember it. The man was developing a pattern. Not that she could blame him for hoping.
"We used to sit out here after dates. For hours we'd swing and talk … make plans for the future. Neck a bit, until Garrett would see us and flick the porch light. That was always our cue to knock it off."
He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to snap her fingers and yell, Oh, yeah, I remember all that. It was like facing a kid on Christmas morning and telling him Santa had forgotten to stop by, and she was beginning to feel like a real grinch for having to do it to him over and over again. He seemed so vulnerable right now.
But she had felt something when she'd first spotted this swing on the broad front porch. Hadn't she? Had it been a memory … or just a fantasy? She didn't know. How could she know? She looked at Ben's expectant eyes and realized how cruel it would be to give him false hope.
Sighing, she said, "I'm sorry. I just don't remember."
And with his heartbreak in his eyes, he said, "That's okay. You will sooner or later." Just as he'd said every time they'd repeated this little dance.
She was really beginning to doubt he could have deliberately plotted to rid himself of her. He seemed to want her back very much.
Olive sat on the porch beside the swing, her leash still in Penny's pocket. Ben got to his feet. "I'll get the horses saddled up. You can wait here."
"Okay." But as she watched him go, she wasn't sure she was ready for another verse of the "remember this?" song. Still, maybe he needed this as a sort of confirmation that she didn't remember, that she maybe wasn't going to. She pulled Olive up into the swing beside her, stroked the dog's head and swung very slowly.
Pretty soon Ben came out of the stables with two nearly identical horses saddled and ready. He stopped near the porch and held out a hand to her.
"I'm not real sure about this," Penny said, getting to her feet. "I don't know the first thing about riding one of these things."
Ben looked blank for a second. Then, his voice unbearably sad, his eyes averted, he said, "You're the best rider I know, Penny." He sighed deeply, hid his heartache and faced her again, stroking the brown mare's nose. "This is Agatha. You claimed her the day she was born, named her even."
Blinking in surprise, Penny came down from the porch to stand in front of the mare. She searched the huge brown eyes, and ran her fingers through the thick, nearly black mane. "After Agatha Christie?" she asked, not looking at Ben.
His breath escaped him in a rush. "You remember?"
"No," she said quickly, turning toward him. "I guessed." He lowered his gaze, and she impulsively touched his face, pressing her palm to his cheek. "I'm sorry … I didn't mean to make you think…"
"Don't be sorry." His hand covered hers where it rested on his face, and then he turned and pressed his lips softly to her palm.
She caught her breath at the touch of his lips. But then he released her hand. And she felt, oddly, as if she hadn't wanted him to. She bit her lip. She should leave here before she broke this big man's heart beyond repair. But instead she walked around to the horse's side. She gripped the pommel and let Ben help her into the saddle. She settled her feet in the stirrups and gathered the reins into her hands. She didn't remember. But it didn't feel unfamiliar to be sitting here this way. Her headache thudded harder.
"They're twins, you know," he told her, looking again at the horses. "This one's Brutus."
"Their names are almost as bad as Olive's," she said in an effort to lighten things. "Oh, I almost forgot Olive!" She reached for the leash.
Ben took it from her, but glanced worriedly at the little dog. Olive didn't notice. She was standing at the top of the porch steps looking down at the horses, ears perked, head tilting from one side to the other.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea, bringing her along for the ride," Ben said. "With those stubby legs of hers she'll be winded in ten minutes, and she looks like heart-attack material to me."
Penny frowned down at the fat little dog. "You're right. Besides, she shouldn't be straining herself if she's going to be a mother."
"I agree, and I think Jessi would, too. I'll just put her inside." He looped his reins around the rail that stood in front of the porch, and started up the steps. But as soon as he reached for her, Olive seemed to read his mind, and she darted under his hands, between his legs and down the steps, quicker than lightning.
Penny's mount danced when the dog raced around its feet, and the horse's dancing seemed to excite Olive all the more. She barked, crouching low and looking up at the horse with a "let's play" kind of gleam in her eyes.
The horse reared, no doubt with an "I don't think so" kind of look in her own eyes.
"No!" Penny shouted, jerking the reins and turning the mare in midair. "Don't trample my dog!"
The hooves landed hard, barely missing Olive, who thought the whole thing was a riot and wanted to do it again. Olive barked and lunged, the horse bolted and Penny held on for dear life.
Penny's horse was off like her tail was on fire, and the dog's legs were throwing up dust as she raced after the spooked mare. Ben snatched up the dog just as Chelsea came running out the front door, onto the porch. He shoved the mutt into Chelsea's arms, leaped into the saddle, whirled his mount around and dug in his heels. Damn! Ahead of him Penny bounced up off her saddle every time her horse's flying hooves touched the ground. She wobbled from one side to the other as if she'd never been on a horse before in her life. And the way her legs were slamming against Agatha's sides with every impact would only urge the mare to run faster.
Ben leaned over his own horse, pushing for more speed. He was gaining on her, but too slowly. Damn! Two years ago she'd have been able to sit a runaway mount without even thinking about it. Now…
She was coming up on a fence. And dammit, the horse was still charging full speed—too fast to stop in time. And if Agatha tried to turn, Penny would be thrown for sure. She'd probably break her neck. Ben's heart jumped up to block his throat, so that when he shouted her name no sound came out. He had the horrible feeling that he was about to lose her all over again.
And then something happened. She settled into the saddle. Her legs stopped flopping like wet rags and suddenly clamped tight to the horse's sides. The horse charged right at the fence, and Penny leaned over the pommel, weight in the stirrups, backside lifting slightly from the saddle as the mare launched herself. Like a pair of well-matched dancers, Penny and the horse sailed over the fence, landing easily—and safely, thank goodness—on the other side.
Ben followed, unsure what to think. Penny's horse was still running, but its pace slowed now, and he could see her easing back on the reins, stroking the sleek, sweat-damp neck, leaning close to speak softly. He caught up in a few se
conds, but by then she had slowed the animal to a trot, and then a brisk walk, and finally drew her to a stop there in the middle of the south pasture.
Ben drew his horse to a stop, as well, sliding quickly to the ground and hurrying over to Penny. She leaned forward in the saddle, her head in her hands, pale and trembling. Without even thinking about it first, he reached for her and lifted her down. But he didn't set her on her feet. Rather he cradled her like a child in his arms and searched her face.
Her brows were bunched up tight, eyes closed. But she didn't argue about being held this way. Instead she let her head rest against his shoulder.
"You're hurt?"
"No." She pressed both hands to her forehead again. "Damn, it's my head. God, it's throbbing."
"All right. All right, Penny." He held her closer, massaging the base of her neck with one hand, kneading her scalp with his fingers. Gently, rhythmically. "You're okay."
She released what sounded like a pent-up breath. "That feels good."
"Then I'll keep on doin' it."
He carried her closer to the stream, a crystal blue strand that ran through this pasture and kept on going all the way to Wes's place, bisecting his land, as well. Choosing a grassy spot close to the water's edge, Ben sat down. He arranged Penny so she was reclining against his chest, and began massaging her head with both hands now. Fingertips rubbing gentle circles at her temples while his thumbs curved around to press at the base of her skull. Slow and steady he worked, half-amazed that she didn't object. Her headache must be pretty bad for her to let him touch her like this. He hated that she was hurting—but loved that he could hold her.
"Is it any better?"
"A little."
He peeked down to study her face. "Close your eyes," he told her. "Relax. You're scrunching up your face so much you're starting to look like that dog of yours."
"Hey!"
"That's better. At least you stopped scowling. You always did have a killer scowl."
"Did I?"
She flinched a little. As if the pain was suddenly worse again.
"Forget it. I want you to try something for me, Penny."
"I've been trying," she told him, tensing up all over again. "I've tried and tried, but I can't remember, Ben."
He sighed softly and shook his head. "You just did, sweetheart. Whether you know it or not, you remembered how to ride. If you hadn't, you'd have never made that jump without a few broken bones at the very least."
A long, slow breath escaped her. "I didn't remember. Not really. I just … I just did what seemed best."
He nodded. He knew better, of course, and suddenly he had more hope than ever. Horsemanship was lurking somewhere inside Penny's mind, and the knowledge had come to the surface when she'd needed it. Who was to say that all the rest of her past wasn't still there somewhere, as well? Who was to say it wouldn't emerge just as subtly as this bit of memory had? He might have her back—all of her—even if it would be for a brief time. Too brief.
"Doesn't matter right now anyway," he told her. "I wasn't going to ask you to try to remember. I had something else in mind."
She turned her head, glancing up at him with a hint of alarm in her eyes.
"Relax," he told her. "And listen." He gently turned her head around to its former position, and resumed massaging her headache away. "You hear the stream?"
She frowned a little, but then the frown eased away. "Yes. It's like … laughter."
He wanted to kiss her so much it was like a pain inside him. But he didn't. It was too soon. She'd remembered how to ride that horse, how to jump the fence, how to control the animal and calm it. He had to believe the rest would come, too. He just had to give her time.
And he refused to listen to the voice inside, reminding him that time was something she did not have.
"Just listen to the water," he said softly. "Let everything else go."
He kept massaging her head, his touch light, fingers moving slowly through her dark, silken curls. Her breathing slowed and deepened. Gradually he felt her body relaxing against his. They sat that way for a long while. Ben sorely wished he could calm his mind the way he was helping her to calm hers. But it was impossible for him to reach that relaxed state when she was lying in his arms. He wanted her so much he could barely contain it. But he would, for Penny's sake.
Eventually she blinked her eyes open and whispered, "I can't believe it."
"What?"
"The headache's gone." She sat up then, turning to face him, surprise etched in her pretty eyes.
He didn't want her to sit up. He'd so enjoyed holding her, touching her. "I'm glad."
"They usually last so much longer."
Ben nodded. But he was worried. Headaches had never been part of the myriad symptoms she'd suffered. "When did these headaches start, Penny?"
Lowering her gaze in thought, she frowned just a little.
"Just before I left the clinic," she said. "But they got a lot worse once I came here. I think the first time one hit me this hard was the night I drove past this ranch for the first time." Meeting his eyes again, she went on. "Stress, I imagine. Wanting so badly to remember and not being able to. It's enough to give anyone a headache."
"That could be it." He drew a slow breath and dearly hoped he wasn't about to bring her headache screaming back again. "But it might not be. Penny, you were so sick … and you said yourself you spent two years in a coma. Don't you think it would be best to make sure these headaches aren't something a lot more serious?"
She bit her lip, averted her gaze.
He reached out to cup her face. "I'm not going to push you, okay? Whatever you decide is fine by me. But I'm worried about you, Penny."
She nodded. "I know that." She sighed heavily, tipping her head back and staring up at the big blue sky. "I woke up a month ago, in a hospital bed. The nurse—her name was Michele—she looked like she was going to faint from shock when I opened my eyes and spoke to her. It didn't hit me right away. I mean, I was so overwhelmed and frightened, not knowing who I was or what I was doing there. It was a couple of weeks before I started to feel like something … something wasn't right."
"Physically, you mean?"
She shook her head. "No. I felt fine, getting stronger every day. It was the way they acted. Dr. Barlow, and the nurses." She studied his face as she spoke. "Don't get me wrong, they treated me like a princess there. But they kept saying I had no family, no friends, no reason to be in a hurry to leave. And it just felt wrong to me, like they were keeping something from me, you know? I got … I got really suspicious."
Ben smiled. For a second he'd spotted a familiar gleam in Penny's eyes. "Nancy Drew," he muttered.
"What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Go on, please. I want to know everything."
Taking a breath, she leaned back on her hands in the grass. "I realized that I'd never seen another patient in the clinic. Dr. Barlow told me I'd been in an accident, and had spent two years in a coma. And he told me this clinic was solely for the treatment of patients like me, with the same type of injury. But when I asked to see other patients, talk to them, he got … weird. Put me off, you know?"
Ben nodded, imagining how the old Penny would have reacted to the doctor's vague answers. And he was also wondering about this doctor, and filing that name away in his mind. Barlow.
"So what did you do?"
"They gave me a sedative to help me sleep every night," she said. "So one night I just didn't swallow it. When the nurse left, I got out of bed, flushed the pill and waited until the place was very quiet. Then I slipped out of my room and had a look around the clinic." She sat up, looking troubled, meeting his eyes. "There were other patients there, all right. In every room I checked. But they were all unresponsive, and hooked up to IV s and monitors." She bit her lip. "This is going to sound really far-fetched, Ben."
He almost grinned at her. To have her here, telling him something far-fetched, was almost too good to be true. He couldn't count how many
times she'd started a sentence that way in the past. "Tell me anyway," he said.
She nodded. "I think I was the only one in that place who ever came out of their coma."
Ben sat up a little straighter. "Are you sure?"
She shook her head. "No. I mean, I couldn't search the whole place. But the letterhead at the nurse's desk read Barlow Hospice." Licking her lips, closing her eyes, she went on. "A hospice is where people go to die, Ben. Not to get well. And I got to thinking about how surprised they all seemed when I woke up. And how they'd been calling me Jane and saying they had no information about my background, and that I'd told them I had no one when I'd arrived there, before slipping into a coma. And suddenly I just didn't believe any of it."
"You think they were lying to you?"
Penny nodded slowly, and her eyes narrowed. "There was something going on in that place. I'm sure of that."
There was a remembered fear in her eyes that made Ben shiver. "Did you confront them?"
"Would you? If I were right, and I let them know I was onto them, they'd have never let me out of that place."
"So you ran away?"
"Not for a while. First I got them to take me walking every day. Until I knew the clinic backward and forward. They even let me go outside into the yard a few times. That was when they finally had to give me the clothes I'd arrived with. When I found the torn, crumpled bit of an envelope in the lining of the jacket pocket, I knew I had to come here. It was my only hope of finding the truth."
He stroked her hair. She didn't object, so he did it again. "It couldn't have been easy, coming all that way … not knowing what you'd find."
She shrugged. "I got into the nurse's lounge, and stole Michele's credit card along with her goofy hat and sunglasses. She caught me in the act."
Ben stiffened. "Holy…"
Penny's eyes gleamed and Ben fell silent, recognizing that look. He hadn't seen it in a very long time. Since long before the accident and her supposed death. Since they were teenagers.
THE HUSBAND SHE COULDN'T REMEMBER Page 9