didn’t need to be bossed around. She hated visiting doctors and hospitals. How many times did she have to say she was okay?
She stole a glance at his profile, the hawkish nose and proud jutting chin and her arms slowly unraveled.
And another thing … he hadn’t come to bed last night. When she’d woken, his side hadn’t been slept in. Seeing the covers still drawn, the pillow still plump, had put an unsettling feeling in her stomach, as if she’d already foreseen or had dreamed that he wouldn’t be there when she woke. Not that she’d tell Bishop that. He’d blow it way out of proportion. She didn’t need to be asked more questions.
But perhaps Bishop needed the green flag from this specialist before giving his consent to her falling pregnant. He liked to have all the pegs lined up before going forward with anything. And he took the whole becoming a father thing ultraseriously which, on a baser level, she was grateful for.
So she would grit her teeth, visit this specialist, get the all clear, and once she had a clean bill of health, there should be absolutely nothing to stand in their way.
Three days later, splitting wood for the fireplace, Bishop set another log on the chopping block and, running a hand up over the smooth handle, raised his axe. The blade came down with a whoosh and a thunk that echoed through the surrounding forest of trees.
He’d taken the rest of the week off, and every minute since that doctor’s visit, he’d waited, wondering if this would be the day when his metaphorical axe would fall. Every minute inhabiting that house, sharing that bed, he was conscious of living out the mother of all deceptions.
But, if he were being manipulative, it was with good reason. He was a man stuck in the middle of a particularly difficult set of circumstances … locked in a game of nerves where he could anticipate the moves and yet still had little control over how this rematch would end.
Grinding his teeth, Bishop set another log on the block. He was about to bring the axe down when Laura appeared, carrying his cell phone, traversing the half dozen back stairs and crossing the lawn to where he waited near a yellow clump of melaleuca. With her, she brought the floral scent of her perfume as well as the aromas of the casserole and chocolate sponge dessert she was preparing. He’d missed her home-cooked meals more than he’d realized. Hell, he’d missed a lot of things.
“It’s Willis.” After handing over his phone, she dropped a kiss on his cheek then inspected the blemish-free sky. A frown creased her brow. “You should put a hat on.” She headed off with a skip. “I’ll bring you one.”
He was about to call out don’t bother, but he liked her looking after him. The meals, the smiles. The love.
His attention on the sexy bounce of her step, Bishop put the phone to his ear. On the other end of the line, Willis didn’t beat around the bush.
“I don’t know how much longer I can put them off,” Willis said, referring to the potential buyers of Bishop Scaffolds. “They want to speak with you, Sam.”
Having set the axe down, Bishop wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm. Laura was right. He should wear a hat.
He moved into the shade. “Not this week, Willis.”
“Early next week then.”
“I’ll let you know.” He tipped his nose in the direction of the kitchen and inhaled. “Laura’s doing beef Stroganoff. You should smell it.”
Willis stayed on track. “I’ve given them as much as I can with regard to figures and projections. But the guy keeps calling. You should at least give him ten minutes on the phone. It’s only good business.”
Bishop understood Willis’s point. He should phone, but he wasn’t in the right frame of mind. He was anxious about when, or if, Laura’s memory would return, but on another level he was feeling, in a strange sense, settled; he worried he’d tell the buyers he was no longer interested and later regret that he hadn’t moved on the opportunity. So it was better, for now, to wait and see what transpired.
Bishop swapped the phone to the other ear. “I’ll call him next week.”
A long silence echoed down the line. Bishop dug a booted toe in the black soil while he waited for Willis to spit out whatever else was bothering him.
“You want me to be frank, Sam?”
“That’s what I pay you for.”
“Laura still hasn’t got her memory back?”
“Correct.”
“I know you want to help, but there’s a good chance the past will all come back and you’ll be in the doghouse again. Even if those memories don’t return, you’re still going to have to tell her the truth.” When Bishop only stared into the sun, scrubbing his jaw, Willis prodded. “You know that, right?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“I don’t imagine it is. That’s why you need to be doubly cautious.”
Hell, cautious was his middle name.
But Willis was right. He was getting carried away. Getting tangled up between past, present and possible future. One of them needed to keep their feet firmly planted on the ground.
Willis changed the subject. “Are you coming tomorrow night?”
To his birthday bash? Bishop moved back to the axe he’d left leaning beside the block. There’d be people there from work. People who knew about his divorce. He doubted anyone would have the guts to ask either him or Laura directly about that, or the fact that they looked to be together again. If anyone did …
With his free hand, he swung up the axe and inspected the blade. The sharp edge gleamed in the sunlight.
Bottom line, he wanted to help her remember, right? If things got interesting tomorrow evening and she started to come around too quickly, he’d whisk her away and begin explaining. Not a moment he looked forward to.
But Willis had hit the proverbial nail. He and Laura couldn’t live in the past. Not indefinitely, anyway.
“We’ll be there,” Bishop said. “Laura’s excited about it.”
“Great. We’ll find a few minutes to talk then.”
Bishop was signing off when Laura strolled out again, Akubra in hand. She stuck it on his head and told him to leave it there.
Grinning, he tipped the rim. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Is everything okay at the office?”
“Everything’s good.”
“It’s been wonderful having you home this week, but if you need to go in, don’t stay because you’re worried about me.” When he only looked at her, she set her hands on her hips. “I feel great, Bishop.” Then, shading her eyes from the sun, she asked, “What will we give Willis for his birthday? Is he interested in chess?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You’ve never asked?”
“It’s
