only was she gorgeous, she was the vision who’d appeared at his hospital bedside. No angel, but his wife.
He gaped at her as she started slowly down the stairs.
Sarah Morgan was a fragile blonde, with smooth, silky hair parted on the left. It curved out bell-like around her heart-shaped face, ending in a loose wave that brought the tips in to brush against her neck then flip out again. Her skin was clear, her nose was straight…and her gray eyes were fixed on him warily.
“I was going to drive to the hospital and pick you up.” Her voice was low and melodic, with a husky timbre.
He found it incredibly sexy.
Something stirred deep inside him.
“The nurse said she’d call me.” She trailed her left hand down the railing as she descended. A delicate gold band glinted on her ring finger. “After the doctor had checked you out.”
She was straight shouldered and leggy, fine boned and elegant. And though the voluminous shirt billow ing out over her jeans concealed her shape, he had no problem envisioning a curvy little figure under the crisp white cotton.
She’d reached the last step and was only an arm’s span away. To his astonishment, he saw she was trembling.
He reached out and took possession of her left hand. She started. Tried to tug it free. As she did, her perfume drifted to him, sweet roses spiced with carnation. Feminine and tantalizing. He tightened his grip.
“Well, hi, Mrs. Morgan,” he said softly, caressing her wedding band with the pad of his thumb. “How about a ‘Welcome home’ kiss for the injured warrior?”
Her lips parted in a gasp.
Her eyes sparked with indignation.
Her body language screamed rejection.
He did a mental double take. Had they quarreled before the accident? If so, whose fault had it been?
His, apparently!
Oh, what the heck—whoever had been at fault, it was time to make up. And the making up, he figured with a sense of pleasurable anticipation, would be fun.
Keeping her wrist trapped with one hand, he slid the fingers of the other through her hair to cup her head. And before she could catch her breath, he leaned forward and claimed her parted pink lips with his own.
From a foggy distance, he heard a child’s giggle.
“Jamie,” his daughter whispered, “Daddy’s kissing Mommie.”
But Mommie, Jedidiah realized with an uneasy jolt, wasn’t kissing Daddy back. And he’d enjoyed only a brief taste of satin-soft, heavenly sweet lips when she wrenched herself away from him.
Her next move stunned him: she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. And what stunned him even more than her undisguised disgust was the rage in her glare.
“That was inexcusable!” she hissed. “I know you want to get rid of me, but that’s a despicable way to go about it—taking advantage of me. Especially in front of the children!”
“Get rid of you?” He blinked. “Why should I want to get rid of you?”
Her eyes went blank for five seconds. Then they took on a scornful expression. “So you’ve changed your tune now that you need help. Oh, you didn’t have to bother with all that playacting. I’m not about to leave you in the lurch.”
“Sarah, I have to tell you—”
“Go to bed,” she snapped. “You look as if you’re going to pass out at any minute.” Pausing only to scoop up the little boy—his son!—she said, “Emma, come with me to the kitchen. I’ll make us all some lunch.”
The little girl—his daughter!—trotted after Sarah.
Head spinning, he watched them go. He didn’t want any lunch. All he wanted was to lie down. But first, he had to tell his wife he’d lost his memory. Then he’d have her fill him in on everything he’d forgotten. And the first thing he wanted to know was: why was she so angry with him?
Legs wobbly as rubber, he made his way across the foyer, following the fast-fading sound of voices.
“Mom—” that was Emma “—I wanted to go upstairs with Daddy!”
He turned into a corridor and saw a room ahead with the door swinging half-shut. The voices now came from beyond it.
“We have to talk, Emma.” Sarah’s voice came faintly. “That man—he’s not your daddy.”
Jedidiah stumbled. Almost fell. He righted himself, swore under his breath—what breath he had left! He wasn’t the child’s father? Then whose child was she?
“He is too my daddy!”
“No, your daddy’s gone to Heaven. You know that.”
“But he’s come back!” Emma started to cry. “Daddy’s come back!”
“Honey, he’s not your daddy. And he’s not Jamie’s daddy, either—”
Now the boy started to cry, a keening wail that drowned out the heartrending sobs jerking from his sister.
Jedidiah felt as if the carpet had been swept out from under his feet. Was this real? Or was he still in his hospital bed under the influence of some mind-bending drug?
“Listen to me.” Sarah’s voice was urgent, with an edge of panic. “Both of you. I’m going to explain.”
He cocked his head and his ears. This he wanted to hear. But a shadow fell over the open doorway, and a second later the kitchen door shut with a sharp click.
He eased his way along the corridor and stopped at the door. Pressing his ear to it, he listened.
All he could hear was a murmur.
Not one word was intelligible.
Oh, this was great. His wife wasn’t speaking to him, and his children were some other man’s.
But now was not the time to ask for explanations; not with Jamie and Emma around. They were already upset enough. He’d wait till he got Sarah on her own.
Turning, he felt a great emptiness in his heart as he made his way to the stairs. He’d thought, when he’d come back to this house, that it was a home. A home, with a wife who loved him. What he had walked into was a situation as bleak as it was depressing: a house with a woman who despised him, and two children who belonged to some other man.
By the time he’d climbed the stairs, he could hardly see straight. He staggered into the first bedroom he came to, and after clumsily stripping to his briefs, he aimed himself toward the bed. It was queen-size, with a puffy hunter-green duvet.
He tugged the duvet aside, fell onto the mattress.
And passed into oblivion.
Sarah
