didn’t mention you were getting a new car.”
Bishop’s eyes, beneath their aviator sunglasses, didn’t leave the road. “Willis negotiated a good lease on the Land Rover.”
Her mind wound back but didn’t hook onto anything. She shrugged. “Willis who? I don’t remember you mentioning that name before.”
“Haven’t I? He’s my assistant. New assistant.”
“What happened to Cecil Clark? I thought you said he did a good job. He seemed nice enough at that charity dinner we went to last month.”
“He … got another offer.”
“You should have matched it.”
His voice dropped. “Sometimes you just have to let people go.”
Four-wheel drive tires crunched as he braked at the top of their lengthy gravel drive. Rather than one of the four garages, he’d parked in front of the house, a sprawling ranch-style dwelling cut into the hillside. Both inside and out, the house combined tasteful luxury with a homey rural feel—enormous individually crafted open fireplaces, large yet cozy bedrooms, two massive home offices, a fully equipped gym with sauna and indoor pool for laps.
On Sundays, Laura served eggs Benedict on the eastern porch and together they would watch the southern hemisphere sun climb higher toward the far-stretching haze of mountains to the west. Even more she loved what came after coffee … returning to bed to savor her delectable, insatiable husband.
Touching the small bandage above her temple, Laura frowned and thought back. Had they enjoyed their ritual this Sunday past? She couldn’t remember.
Bishop swung out of the driver’s side and performed his usual courtesy of opening her door. Together they moved up the slate-paved steps that led to the lofty teak and glass paneled entry door. Halfway up, he paused to clear his throat and rattle the keys awkwardly in his palm.
“My, uh, house key must be on my other set.”
“I have mine.” She didn’t recall grabbing her bag before leaving for the hospital—silly, but she couldn’t even remember this bag. Still she dug in, rummaged around, fished out a set of keys … but then her eyes rounded and she froze.
Horror slow-dripping through her veins, she rotated her left hand one way, then the other as panic fisted tight and fierce inside of her.
“My rings,” she got out. “The nurse must have taken them off before the scan.”
Common sense said her diamond-studded wedding band and magnificent princess-cut engagement ring must be filed away at the hospital somewhere safe. Clearly it was an oversight that they hadn’t been returned before they’d left. But the staff would have records. There was no reason to believe she wouldn’t get them back. Still she couldn’t loosen the suffocating knot in her chest. She felt naked without them. Somehow so vulnerable.
Standing on the expansive veranda, with the sun arcing toward the towering eucalypt trees behind, Bishop took a step closer. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. You need to rest.”
He’d said it kindly enough but it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she’d been resting all day. Still, the truth was that suddenly she did feel tired, and a few degrees off balance. Maybe she should swallow her pride and do as he asked. Lie down.
But not alone.
She twined their fingers and tugged until the back of his hand pressed against her heart. She hoped her teasing grin was persuasive.
“You look like you could use a rest, too.”
Emotion flared in his eyes, hot and cold at the same time. “I didn’t have a fall today,” he reminded her. “You did.”
Her heart dropped. He sounded so … detached. But unlike earlier in hospital, this time she knew why. Of course he wanted to be with her. Of course he wanted to caress and kiss her. But safety-first Bishop was determined not to go against professional advice. During the drive home, he’d made a point of repeating the doctor’s instructions that she ought to take things easy for a day or two. Still …
“You know something?” She moved closer until their hands lay flat between them like pressed flowers. “I can’t think of a better way to relax than making love with my husband.”
As if infused by a sudden rush of blood, a cord rose and pulsed down one side of his throat. His chest expanded on a giant breath and that odd emotion in his eyes flared again.
“We’ll go inside.” His free hand opened the door. “I’ll fix you something to drink.”
“Champagne?” she asked, trying hard not to sound hurt by his flat tone as he herded her in. “It’s our anniversary, after all.”
“Tea, iced or hot.” He shut the door and walked past. “In a couple of days we’ll see if you still want champagne.”
Three
When Laura relented and took herself off to bed, Bishop sent up a silent prayer of thanks.
She’d tried to corner him into joining her in the bedroom, but he’d dodged another bullet, albeit with a minimum of skill. He only hoped his ex-wife’s memory returned before either of them had to endure that kind of farce again.
In her mind, they were married. Married couples enjoyed conjugal intimacies, and he and Laura had been intimate often. What bothered Bishop most now was how strongly his body responded to the possibility of holding Laura close. Naked. Loving. His again.
As she disappeared down the wide hardwood hall, gait slow, head down, Bishop shoveled a hand through his hair and threw a glance around. Same furniture, same stunning yet homey fireplace. How many times had they made love before the flames he’d stoked there?
After several moments remembering back … wishing something, somewhere, had turned out differently … he bit down and wheeled toward the door.
His hands bunched at his sides. The urge to walk out was overwhelming; he could only see this ending badly. But he couldn’t leave. At least not yet. If Laura’s inability to remember lasted beyond Sunday, however, he’d fabricate a business trip and organize assistance … a nurse perhaps. Or Grace would need to make arrangements. Until then, he was stuck.
But he wouldn’t sit around twiddling his thumbs. He might be away from the office, his apartment, but he could still get some work done.
He brought his laptop in from the car and without much thought, moved into his former home office. He let his eye linger over the heavy rosewood furniture, the maroon couch, his Rubik’s Cube and the framed photograph of Laura that, remarkably, still sat on the polished desk. He moved forward and let a fingertip trail the cool silver frame.
Hell, he thought she’d have demolished this room and every reminder in it the first chance she’d got. Which led him to thoughts of her “lost” wedding rings.
They weren’t at the hospital. She’d probably flushed them or tossed them in the fireplace, as he’d done with his band a raging moment before he’d slammed the door shut on this place forever. Or believed that he had. But his
