The Husband She'd Never Met

by Barbara Hannay

  Before she could respond he slipped his arms around her bare waist and then he was kissing her again, kissing her and walking her towards the bed. Their bed, Where, together, they tumbled into heaven.

  * * *

  In the lamplight they lay in a tangle of sheets as their breathing and heartbeats slowed.

  ‘Wow...’ Carrie couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. She’d never experienced such amazing lovemaking—or at least she certainly couldn’t remember an occasion that came even close. She was brimming with happiness and wonder and a deeper emotion—an emotion akin to the way she’d felt after that morning’s kiss.

  And she’d fallen in love with her husband.

  But, given all the mystery that still surrounded their past, it might be imprudent to admit her feelings to Max.

  ‘I can’t believe I don’t remember that,’ she said instead, lacing her voice with humour. ‘I’m surprised it didn’t bring my memory back. I’m sure Prince Charming didn’t wake Sleeping Beauty with just a kiss.’

  She’d half expected to hear Max chuckle, but he remained silent.

  Turning to him in the subdued light, she saw that he was lying with his hands stacked under his head, staring up at the ceiling. No hint of a smile.

  Fear trembled at the edges of her happiness. Fear and guilt as she recalled the question he’d asked her seconds before they’d tumbled so eagerly into bed.

  ‘You’re quite sure you’re OK with this?’

  At the time she’d thought Max was being considerate, because of her memory loss and general confusion. Now, after another glance at his solemn profile, she couldn’t help wondering if his question had been prompted by something deeper.

  Perhaps she should have shown a little more courtesy by asking him the same question.

  If they’d had problems before her accident, as she was starting to suspect was the case, this tryst might have been totally out of line. But their passion had felt so honest. What could have gone wrong in their marriage?

  Worried, Carrie struggled again to remember something, anything from her life with Max. But once again the effort was futile.

  She rolled onto her side, looking at him. ‘Max?’

  When he turned, his face was in shadow.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ she asked.

  He made a soft sound, a half-hearted chuckle. ‘That’s a strange question, Carrie...under the circumstances.’

  ‘Well, yes, I know there’s something the matter with me—but is there also something wrong with us? With our marriage?’

  When he didn’t answer, she dared to ask, ‘How—how long is it since we’ve made love?’

  His chest rose and fell as he sighed. ‘Quite a while.’

  ‘Quite a while? As in...months?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her new-found happiness deserted her, like air rushing from a deflated balloon. Here was the evidence she’d dreaded. ‘Did we—?’ She was scared to ask more questions, but she felt she had to get to the bottom of this. ‘So obviously we’ve had problems?’

  Now his Adam’s apple slid in his throat as he swallowed and she felt her fear cause a cold shiver inside. She knew it was probably wisest to let things be, to wait for the full picture to become clear when her memory returned, but she had no idea when that might be and the waiting was nerve-racking.

  ‘Can’t you tell me, Max?’ She couldn’t stop herself from persisting. ‘What’s the problem? Is one of us having an affair?’

  This brought another sigh. ‘Give me a break, Carrie. I can only give you my version of things, and I’m not sure that’s helpful. You’ll know everything soon enough.’

  He sounded tired, bored, but she was sure this was a front.

  ‘But if you were having an affair with another woman I deserve to—’

  ‘I wasn’t having an affair. There’s no one else.’

  She supposed she should have been reassured by this, but she winced at the implications. Surely she hadn’t been the unfaithful partner? ‘It wasn’t me, was it?’

  ‘There were no affairs,’ he said wearily. ‘Not as far as I’m aware.’

  That was something, at least. But now Carrie thought about the suitcase again, and felt another shiver...deeper and colder.

  ‘Well, if it wasn’t an affair...’ Her voice trailed off as she thought about the withered and weedy vegetable patch that she’d apparently lost interest in. ‘I didn’t lose interest in sex, did I?’

  ‘Would you believe me if I said yes?’

  Silenced, finally, Carrie stared in dismay at his darkened profile. How could she have lost interest in making love with this gorgeous man? After all, sex was hardly in the same league as growing and bottling vegetables. And sex with Max was as good as it got.

  ‘That doesn’t make sense,’ she said unhappily.

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  Flopping back onto the pillow, she lay beside him, joining him in staring up at the ceiling. She was more bewildered than ever. But not for the first time she realised how difficult this situation must be for her husband.

  First she’d lost interest in her marriage, and then she’d lost her memory, and now she was pestering him. And her provocative behaviour this evening might have made things worse.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said after a bit. ‘I more or less threw myself at you tonight.’

  ‘I could have sent you away.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

  She reached for his hand and gave it a shy squeeze. ‘I wish I understood what’s gone wrong. Right now, it doesn’t make any kind of sense to me.’

  ‘It will in time.’ He rose onto one elbow, giving her a fabulous close-up view of his massive shoulders. ‘I should go.’

  ‘To sleep in the other room?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Now it was Carrie who sighed. She didn’t want him to leave, to walk away, abandoning her as if this was nothing more than a casual one-night stand.

  ‘Do you have to go?’

  Her question was met by silence.

  ‘I’d like you to stay, Max.’

  She couldn’t help feeling that her amnesia was giving her a chance—possibly an important chance—to set things right again. No doubt this was a shaky theory, but it felt right tonight to have her husband lying beside her. And with no reliable memories to draw from all she had to go on were her feelings.

  To her relief, he settled back in the bed.

  ‘If I stay you should try to sleep,’ he said. ‘Doctor’s orders. Remember?’

  ‘Sure.’ She was happy to obey if it kept him near. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Night, Carrie.’

  She felt the brief pressure of his lips on her brow, felt the movement of the mattress as he settled more comfortably beside her. With his warm, muscular body mere inches away, touching close, she smiled and closed her eyes.

  * * *

  From habit, Max woke at dawn. In the pearly grey light he saw his wife lying beside him. Her face was soft with sleep and her eyelashes were sweet dusky smudges against her cheeks. Her lips, pale with sleep, were soft and full and inviting.

  While he watched, those lips curved with the hint of a drowsy smile and he felt happiness roll through him in a hot wave, enticing his mind to play with the crazy fantasy that their life from now on would always be like this.

  Last night she’d been his Carrie of old—his eager, responsive, passionate wife. Chances were if he woke her now she would greet him again with the same unmistakable delight. His body grew hot and hard at the thought.

  I love you, Carrie.

  If only he could tell her. The need to remind her of his love burned in him. It was so tempting to simply forget the past, as she had, to carry on as if the slate had been wiped clean and th
ey were able to start over.

  He tortured himself by recalling the sweet early days of their marriage when they’d hardly been able to keep their hands off each other, when life had felt like one long honeymoon and everything about his lifestyle had fascinated and intrigued Carrie.

  ‘I’m going to be a perfect cattleman’s wife,’ she’d told him when she’d arrived at Riverslea Downs, full of bright dreams. ‘Now that I can ride a horse I’ll go out mustering with you. I’ll learn how to grow fruit and vegetables. And when our kids arrive I’ll teach them at home till they’re ready for boarding school. I know I’m going to love it. I’ll never be bored.’

  Those rosy dreams had been fine at first. Carrie had joined him and the other stockmen on the mustering camps. She’d made beef stew and golden syrup damper on an open fire and she’d slept in a swag on the ground with him at night.

  She’d even helped in the stockyards, and she’d been full of enthusiasm for every aspect of life in the bush. She’d talked about starting a family, wanting to add to the generations of Kincaids who’d lived and worked at Riverslea Downs. It was a proud tradition that they’d both been keen to continue and they’d agreed that three children would be perfect.

  Then, after one of Carrie’s trips to Sydney, her dreams had faded. It seemed that almost overnight they’d turned to dust. The only answer Max had been able to find was that she’d finally accepted her mother’s litany of reasons why life in the Outback was a disastrous mistake.

  He knew it had been hard for an only daughter to be such a huge disappointment to her mother. But now, recalling the changes in his wife on her return, Max rose swiftly from the bed. It would be foolish to linger, to allow Carrie to wake beside him, to roll towards him with an expectant smile.

  His body leapt at the thought, but he kept walking. Out of the room. It was a crazy fantasy to try to pretend even for a few days that the wheels hadn’t fallen off their marriage. It was tempting to sweep the nasty truth under the carpet for now, but that would only make the return of Carrie’s memory so much harder to bear.

  * * *

  Carrie wasn’t too worried when she woke to find Max gone. She knew he was an early riser, and it was fairly common knowledge that this was a common trait for most men of the land. Besides, after last night’s out-of-this-world passion she was feeling confident that all would be well.

  There’d been an honesty about their lovemaking that couldn’t be faked. It had hinted at deeper, more important emotions that went beyond the physical, and Carrie couldn’t help feeling optimistic.

  Whatever their problems had been in the past, she’d been granted this reprieve, and with luck it would provide a fresh new insight into her marriage.

  Perhaps if she was at fault she would be able to find a way to make amends. She would give anything to see that worried light leave Max’s eyes permanently.

  Pleased by this positive prospect, she got dressed, then went to greet Clover and to plan her day.

  * * *

  Max joined her for lunch and she served homemade tomato and basil soup—another Carrie K recipe she’d found on the file. And as she knew Max would be hungry, she added toasted ham and cheese sandwiches.

  ‘Great tucker,’ Max said with a warm smile as he reached for another toasted sandwich. ‘I always love the way you make these.’

  She felt unexpectedly pleased. ‘I know,’ she said. Then gasped when she realised what she’d said.

  Max frowned, watching her intently. ‘You remember?’ he asked quietly.

  Carrie frowned. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. The sandwiches just seemed...like a good idea. But it’s weird. As soon as you said you love how I make them, I was quite sure I already knew that. It’s to do with the way I butter the outsides.’

  ‘Yes...’

  Across the table they stared at each other. Watching. Wondering. Waiting for another clue to drop.

  ‘Do you remember anything else?’ Max asked cautiously.

  It was hard for Carrie to concentrate, trapped in the beam of his searching blue gaze.

  ‘I—I don’t think so. But there may be other stuff. I didn’t even know I remembered that.’

  ‘Have a go,’ he urged, and there was a new tension in his voice. ‘When’s your birthday?

  ‘Well, I already knew that. It’s the fourth of May.’

  ‘What about mine?’

  Carrie opened her mouth, hoping the date would just pop out. But once again trying to dredge up the forgotten past was like trying to wade through wet concrete. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Our wedding anniversary?’

  ‘You told me our honeymoon was in May, so I guess the wedding must have been some time around my birthday.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He gave a brief shrug. ‘I guess there’s no use in forcing these things.’

  ‘Are you in a hurry for me to remember, Max?’

  He took a moment to answer, and then his mouth tilted in a hard-to-read smile. ‘That’s a loaded question.’

  ‘Well, I won’t push you to answer it.’

  She supposed he was thinking about their problems—whatever they were. It was a depressing thought. Right now it was hard to believe there was anything wrong.

  Lifting the teapot, she changed the subject. ‘Would you like a refill?’

  At the end of lunch Max announced that he was heading off to a distant corner of the property to mend the windmill pump.

  ‘It’s a tricky job,’ he said. ‘Barney’s going to help me, but it might take most of the afternoon.’

  Carrie walked with him to the kitchen door. ‘If you’ll be gone for hours, perhaps you need a kiss goodbye.’

  He stopped in the doorway, his expression so stern and forbidding Carrie was sure he was going to refuse her suggestion, but then his blue eyes warmed, betraying the hint of a lurking smile.

  ‘You’re a minx,’ he murmured, reaching easily to snag her waist and reel her in till she was hard against him, with her mouth inches from his.

  Now, as he looked straight into her eyes, he challenged, ‘OK—kiss me, Carrie.’

  After last night she shouldn’t have been shocked by the blaze that leapt within her. But Max didn’t move. He simply stood completely still, and her heart hammered hard against her ribs while her face turned to flames.

  She could scarcely breathe as she tilted her chin ever so slightly upwards. Now, with a hair’s breadth separating their lips, she wondered if she should simply give him a quick peck on the cheek. But the thought died almost as soon as it was born. The temptation to taste him again was too fierce.

  Another tiny lift of her face brought her lips brushing against his. She felt the first sweet zap of contact. Felt him stiffen, heard him breathe her name...an almost soundless whisper. Then she sipped at his lower lip, marvelling at its softness in stark contrast to the hard masculinity of the rest of his body.

  As she moved to taste his upper lip a soft groan seemed to tear loose from inside him. A heartbeat later his arms were around her, taking charge, settling her hips against his, exactly where he wanted her. Then he kissed her slowly and lazily, but with utter devastation, taking his own sweet time as her knees threatened to give way...

  ‘You there, Max?’

  Dazed, Carrie turned in Max’s arms to see Barney on the back steps, his eyes bulging in his flaming red face.

  ‘Aw, hell. Sorry, boss.’ The poor man backed down the steps so quickly he almost tripped.

  ‘I’ll be right with you, Barney,’ Max called to him calmly.

  Max was holding Carrie by the elbows now, looking down at her, his eyes glittering blue slits beneath half-lowered lids.

  ‘Now I’ll cop an earful,’ he murmured.

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispered back.

  ‘I’m not.�
� He smiled then, his expression changing from reproach to smouldering amusement. ‘Catch you later.’

  With a swing of the fly-screen door he was down the steps and gone, long legs striding, hurrying to catch up with Barney.

  Carrie leaned against the doorframe and let out her breath in a shaky huff, then she smiled as she touched her fingers to her lips, remembering the tantalising moment when her lips had met her husband’s. That first touch had been as light as thistledown, and yet as powerful as an earthquake.

  She could still feel the aftershocks of Max’s kiss now, as she gathered up the crockery and cutlery they’d used for lunch and stacked it in the dishwasher.

  Outside, she heard the ute start up. Max and Barney were driving off to repair the windmill pump. She wondered how she would spend her afternoon and decided, on a sudden brave impulse, that it was time to tackle the one task she’d been so assiduously avoiding.

  * * *

  Afternoon sunlight streamed through the bedroom windows and pooled on the honey-gold timber floor where Carrie knelt to unlock the suitcase they’d brought back from Whitehorse Creek. She felt strangely nervous as she opened the lid and eyed the neatly folded clothes. It was still hard to believe these were her belongings.

  Predictably, there was a pair of blue jeans, as well as several of the long-sleeved cotton shirts that were de rigueur for women in the bush. But there were other clothes too—both summer and winter things. And dresses...rather lovely dresses—a halter-necked dress in moss-green, a glamorous off-the-shoulder white pencil dress and a divine little black swing affair with a silver trim around the short hemline.

  As Carrie stood before the mirror, holding the dresses in front of her, she wondered when she’d worn these outfits. Had her social life in the bush been busier and more varied than she’d imagined? Or had she been on her way to the city when she’d taken these things to Whitehorse Creek?

  If so, why?

  Surely I wasn’t leaving Max?

  She felt a cold shiver at the thought. Surely their relationship hadn’t deteriorated to that chilling point?

  Sickened by this disturbing possibility, Carrie hastily turned her attention to unpacking, stowing the dresses on hangers in the wardrobe and setting the jeans and folded shirts, shorts and sweaters on the appropriate shelves.