"I have, too … only … I could never remember when I woke. But I wanted to remember, Ben."
He freed the button and zipper of her jeans so he could slide his hand deeper. And when he found the soft moistness between her legs, he touched her there, the way she liked. Her hips arched, pressing her against his hand, and she sighed deep and raggedly.
He kissed her, pulled her body tight to his and worked her jeans lower. And somehow she managed to undress him, as well. And then he was lowering himself over her, slipping inside her. Feeling as if he'd come home after a long, long journey, he moved deeper into her body. She wrapped her legs around his and held him there, lying still, opening her eyes and staring up into his. And for just a moment he thought he saw the old Penny there. The look of love, shining from her eyes just the way it had done before.
Then she closed her eyes, and the look was gone. But the feeling remained. He moved inside her, and she moved with him, and it was as if they'd never been apart. He knew every sound she made, every breath that shuddered out of her. He knew when she climaxed, because she held him tighter, pressed him more deeply into her, and because she whispered his name in that same broken way she always had. And he lost himself in sensations when he joined her in ecstasy.
And then he cradled her close, and kissed her face, and whispered that everything was going to be okay. He only wished it wasn't a lie.
She didn't know why she'd reacted the way she had. Fear was certainly a part of it. Coupled perhaps with a desire to cling to her life, whatever it had been, for as long as she could. Because it might end, all too soon.
Whatever, she knew one thing. She didn't regret it. Ben had made her feel more alive than she had since waking from that coma, and there was no way she could regret that. Her feelings were all mixed up. Intense sorrow and devastation warred inside her with a stubborn urge toward denial. All of it wrapped up in a soft, newborn glow as fragile as a firefly's tail. Newborn, yes. But old, too. Like a soul beginning its next incarnation, her feelings for Ben were born again inside her. Fresh and new, but drawing somehow from the old ones she couldn't recall.
And there was something else. Some sense that turning to Ben Brand when disaster hit her in the face was something as natural to her as breathing.
So much was going on in her mind. She couldn't believe she'd suspected him of trying to rid himself of her by faking her death and shipping her off. He wouldn't have done that. First because he'd have had no reason to, knowing she was dying anyway. And second because he'd obviously loved her—adored her—once, a long time ago. He said he still did.
She closed her eyes and nestled closer to him in the little bed, and his arms tightened around her. He said he still did, but of course he couldn't possibly, could he? He didn't even know her now.
And maybe he never would. Maybe there wouldn't be time.
"It's so odd," she said. "I feel so good, except for the headaches. I just don't understand how I can be…" She didn't say the last word. Dying. She didn't even want to think it. So instead she sat up slightly, staring down at him. He'd long since dried away her tears with his kisses. She vowed she wouldn't shed any more. She had far too little time to waste it on crying.
"What kind of shape was I in before that accident? Physically, I mean?"
Ben closed his eyes. "Bad," he told her, and she thought from the lines of tension at the corners of his eyes that he must be remembering. "You couldn't walk through the house without becoming breathless and dizzy. You'd stopped riding. Stopped going out, even. You had to lie down a lot, take naps during the day." He opened his eyes, studied her face, and the tension eased. "Nothing like you are now."
"Was I in pain?"
He winced visibly. "It was pretty bad. Doc medicated you as much as he could, and that just made you even more tired all the time."
She nodded, searching her mind for the memory of all of this, but not finding it. "I don't feel tired at all now. And there's no pain." She tilted her head. "But you said it was a degenerative condition."
"Yeah. The coma … the coma was supposed to be the final stage of the illness."
A tiny tongue of fire leaped to life in her breast. "Is there … is there any chance it was?"
He studied her, and she could see him trying not to let himself hope too much. "Doc said there was no cure for HWS, Penny."
She drew a breath, then let it out all at once. Closing her eyes, she lay back down. "Then … this disease is still inside me."
"We'd be fools to think otherwise," he said softly. "But we can't bet on anything until you see Doc." Ben rolled up onto his side, cupping her face in his hands. "Whatever time we have, Penny, we'll be together. We'll make the most of it. I want to give you everything you've ever wanted, take you anywhere you want to go—"
"I don't want to go anywhere," she told him. "I want to be here. I want to remember."
"I know," he whispered. "I know." He leaned closer, brushing her lips with his.
The knock at the door made her go stiff, but Ben didn't even flinch. He just called, "Wait a minute," and got out of bed, pulling on his clothes. Then he glanced down at her, and gently tucked the covers around her.
She felt like crawling underneath them to hide from this cruel new reality she was being forced to face. She wanted Ben here with her. He could make her forget.
Ben opened the door then, and she heard Garrett's voice, though he spoke so softly she had to strain to catch his words. "Need to talk to you, Ben," he said, and he sounded grim. "Alone."
Frowning, Penny changed her mind about crawling under the covers. What was this? More secrets? Lord, this family seemed to have more than its share of them!
Ben glanced back toward Penny, then stepped into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him.
Penny scrambled out of the bed, yanking on the robe that hung over the back of the chair. She tiptoed to the door and listened by pressing her ear to the wood, but only muffled tones made their way through. Damned old-fashioned builders and their love of hardwoods and high quality! She glanced around, spied a water glass on the bedside stand, chugged its contents so fast her belly ached. Then she put the glass to the door and her ear to the glass.
Ah, better.
"Why the cloak-and-dagger routine, Garrett?" Ben was asking.
She wondered why it relieved her to hear something that seemed to indicate this round of "I've got a secret" wasn't Ben's idea.
"Adam told me what happened," Garrett said. "I figure Penny has more than enough to deal with right now. How is she taking it?"
"How do you think?"
There was a deep sigh. Then Garrett asked, "How 'bout you, Ben?"
"I feel like I've been gut-shot and left in the desert. But she's with me, so I don't want to leave. Does that make any sense at all?"
Penny's eyes welled up when he said that. She blinked her tears away and tried to focus on the conversation instead of on her state of health and on her emotions. She could picture Garrett's worried gaze moving over his brother's face, picture him shaking his head in sorrow.
"I figured there was no sense scaring her when she was going through so much."
Penny's heart tripped and stuttered. Scaring her?
"Scaring her?" Ben asked.
"Ben, I think we got trouble. I had a call today from Matt Bauer, over at the El Paso Rangers' Station. He said there was some fella there lookin' for Penny."
Penny's throat went dry. Ask for a description, she thought desperately.
"What sort of fella?" Ben asked.
"Midforties, balding, lean. Spoke with a British accent."
Dr. Barlow! Penny's heart raced faster. "Ben, this guy had a photo of Penny. Claimed she was his wife."
"That's bullshit," Ben snapped. But then he was quiet for a long moment.
"That's what Matt thought, too. He said the guy refused to say where he was staying, or even fill out a missing-persons report on her. Took off as soon as Matt started asking questions. Thing is, Ben, I tried t
o check on this Barlow Hospice in London, where Penny said she'd been, and on the doctor she mentioned by the same name. Both seem to have vanished from the face of the earth."
"How's that?" Ben asked.
"The building is empty. Barlow sold it to a real-estate agency for half what it was worth and disappeared, along with whatever patients might have been in his care. No one can find any records … there's just nothing."
Penny drew a sharp breath. Gone? The clinic and the doctor? Just gone?
"What about former employees?" Ben asked.
"The ones they can locate don't know a thing. They showed up for work one day, and the place was locked up and empty. None of them have a clue of anything shady going on there, Ben, but I gotta tell you, it sounds fishy to me. I mean, I know Penny is suspicious of little girls selling cookies, but I think this time she just might be onto something."
She heard movement. Pacing. She thought it was Ben. Then it stopped. "You said the employees they can locate…"
"Yeah," Garrett said. "There are a handful who've vanished along with the doc. And then there's one they did find, but she isn't talking. The nurse, Michele Kudrow—the one Penny stole the credit card from—she was found in her apartment."
"Found?" Ben asked. Then, more softly, he asked, "Dead?"
"Yeah."
"Murder?"
"Suicide."
There was a long pause.
Suicide, my eye. Penny thought. Michele knew too much! Then she blinked slowly. Come to think of it, she might know too much, too. She just didn't remember. But what if she did? Or what if Dr. Barlow thought she might?
God, what was that man hiding?
"We're gonna have to find this Barlow, Garrett. I don't care what it takes. Whoever is responsible for costing me two years with my wife is going to pay. I should have been with her, coma or no coma. I should have been there. Someone robbed me of that. And I can hardly stand to speculate on the reasons why, what the hell his motives for keeping Penny there in secret might have been. I want that bastard to look me right in the eyes and tell me, Garrett. And then I want to see him pay for what he's done."
Penny closed her eyes, awed again by the force of the emotions the man still held for her. It was overwhelming to know he cared that much.
She wanted to know those answers just as much as he did. And there were two people who might be able to provide them. Kirsten, and Dr. Barlow.
A little chill raced up her spine as she realized that in all likelihood, they were both in town. But only one of them could be approached. Kirsten. She might be an enemy but Penny could handle her. The other must be avoided at all costs.
Or she was sorely afraid she'd end up just like Michele Kudrow.
Dr. Gregory Barlow hadn't wasted any time once he'd discovered that his Jane—Penny Brand—had indeed managed to locate her family. He didn't know how she'd done it. His files hadn't been touched. And no one, not even his most trusted employee, had known her real name. Or anything at all about her, or any of the others.
So there was only one answer. She must remember. And if she remembered, she might well remember things that could destroy him. Comatose patients often heard much of what went on around them. He'd known that. But it hadn't mattered, or he'd thought it hadn't mattered. Because he hadn't expected her to ever recover from that coma. And even if she did, he hadn't intended for her to ever leave his clinic. And even if she managed that, she should never have regained her memory enough to find her way back to her family.
Somehow, though, the mite of a woman had done all of those things. And soon she and her family would manage to put it all together. She was a danger to him. A threat to everything he'd worked for, everything he'd accomplished. God, he was so close, closer than he'd ever been!
Well, he simply couldn't let her ruin it all. He couldn't.
Already he'd had to phone that unscrupulous attorney and make hasty arrangements. Sell the clinic, move the patients, set up again under a new name and begin seeking out new employees. Take care of anyone who knew too much.
Michele. He'd been half in love with her. But she was soft. She'd have given it all up if pressed. He knew that.
Now all that remained was his one-of-a-kind patient. The one who represented his greatest work so far.
She was going to have to surrender to his care, come back with him. Or she was going to have to die.
Ben stepped back into Penny's bedroom, feeling worried as hell and trying not to show it. He expected to find her in the bed where he'd left her, but instead she was up and dressed. Bright eyes, though puffy from crying. Pink cheeks. Gleaming curls. She looked healthier than he did. What alarmed him was that she seemed to be packing. Methodically removing the clothes Chelsea had given her from the dresser, and stacking them on the bed. Maybe she was just sorting through them again.
"Honey, you ought to rest," he told her.
"Resting is the last thing I want to do." She averted her gaze when she said it, but quickly hid her distress, and opened another drawer.
Ben was thoroughly confused. "But…"
"But nothing." She faced him, hands on her hips. "Look, I don't know how this kind of news hit me the last time, Ben. I can only tell you how I feel now."
He stepped close to her, pushed her hair out of her eyes, loving the silken spring of it against his palm. "And how's that?"
"Like I have a whole lot to do, and maybe not a lot of time to do it."
He closed his eyes. God, to hear her say it so matter-of-factly…
"Besides, if I'm going to be as sick as you say I was before … well, I might as well try to do what I want to while I'm still able."
He sighed, nodded. She was right. He'd tried to bring her around to thinking this way the last time … but then, she'd been so different. Sicker. In pain. Devastated. Beaten. She'd just given up.
It was good to see her this way. The fighter she'd been before she got sick in the first place. But God, did she have to leave him? She'd told him she wanted to stay here. To find her old life while there was still time. "So … where are you going?" he asked her.
She turned slowly, looking up into his eyes, almost startled. Then her eyes darkened with understanding. "I'm sorry, Ben. Did you think…?" She glanced at the clothes on the bed, then back at him. And then she smiled very gently, but sadly, and reached up to stroke his cheek. "Not far," she told him. "Just down the hall."
"Down the…?" He blinked and searched her face, afraid to believe…
"I thought … but maybe I should have asked first. I thought, Ben, if you still want me … I'd like to try being your wife again. I was going to move my stuff into your room … our room."
He smiled slowly, and felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders. Oh, plenty was still there, bearing down on him, but a little bit of it floated away. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. And then he released her. "In that case, I have something to give you." She tilted her head, studying him curiously as he slowly took the chain from around his neck. The one he'd been wearing since he'd lost her. Undoing the clasp, he slipped her wedding ring from the silver chain as she watched, and he saw her eyes grow moist. He brought the ring to his lips, then took her hand and gently slipped it onto her finger. Penny caught her breath when he lifted her hand and kissed the place where the ring encircled her finger.
Penny knew she'd made this decision impulsively and under tremendous emotional strain. And yet she couldn't quite bring herself to regret it. She spent the night in the arms of her husband. And the fact that he was a stranger to her, a man she barely knew, didn't detract from the comfort he gave to her. It didn't matter that she didn't love him. She had once. She was sure of that. And right now he was the only thing standing between her empty life, barren memory and an early death. He was here, offering to fill her brief time up with his love, and it was an offer she couldn't refuse.
And though she didn't love the man … sometimes, when he held her, or looked into her eyes … it felt as if she could almost r
emember what loving him felt like. Almost as if it were still there, in her heart, but faint and distant. A tiny voice, a whisper straining to be heard.
The ring on her finger felt right. Warm and secure, and she knew it had been placed there with love.
She woke up beside him. His strong arms holding her close, her head pillowed by his broad chest. His scent all around her. And for just an instant—that minuscule space between one heartbeat and the next, between sleeping and waking—it was as if she'd never been away. As if this were the way she woke up every morning. As if … as if she remembered it all perfectly.
And then it was gone again, and she was left with a morning headache.
"Good morning," he said very softly when he felt her stirring.
She managed to smile past the pain when she looked up at him. "Morning."
"How do you feel?"
She thought about that for a minute. "Lucky, I guess. Sounds pretty strange, knowing I'm carrying this disease around in my body." She looked into his eyes. "But I'm not alone anymore."
Ben smiled, his blue eyes twin wells of emotion as he stroked her hair. "You couldn't be less alone if you tried." And he sent a meaningful glance toward the foot of the bed.
She followed his gaze to spot the white lump lying there, sound asleep. "At least she's not snoring," Penny said.
He laughed. God, he was a saint. He'd even put up with Olive in his bed, if that was what it took. She wondered if she'd ever been worthy of this kind of love. She wondered if any woman ever had.
This room—it felt so familiar and yet somehow new to her at the same time. The curtains and bedspread were both a soft, piney green, and the photos on the walls were mostly of family members. But there was one shot with people she didn't recognize.
"Who are they?" she asked Ben, pointing at the framed photo on the wall. "Someone else I've forgotten, I imagine."
Ben's eyes were clouded when he answered. "The man is John Brand. My father's brother. That's his wife, Sally, and their two kids, Marcus and Sara."
THE HUSBAND SHE COULDN'T REMEMBER Page 12