said, forcing a grin. Fact was, he hadn’t realized how precious a gift they’d shared, all those nights before she’d left. If he’d known then what a treasure she was, how priceless and irreplaceable her love would be—
“So when…is…the…man…coming…for…his…car?” She enunciated each word individually.
Another blast of heat warmed his cheeks, his ears, his neck. “He—I, ah, I told him I’d drive it to town today.”
She wrinkled her nose. “But Drew, how will you get home?”
He had to think about that for a minute. Lying wasn’t something he’d gotten much practice at over the years, and he’d told her two in as many minutes.
Grinning, Gabrielle ran her thumbs over his whiskered cheeks. “I’ll just bet you’re about to ask me to follow you into town in the pickup and wait while you make your Little Red Car delivery.”
Too many chances she’d have a memory jog. “No.”
“But why?”
“Because I said so, that’s why.”
He saw the flash of hurt in her eyes and was immediately reminded what she’d said that night, about how he thought he knew the answer to every question. No wonder she left, he admitted silently, regretfully.
Drew shook his head, knowing how ridiculous, how bullheaded he’d sounded. “It’s just, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” That, at least, was the truth. “I’ll get Troy to follow me.”
She wiggled her eyebrows and snuggled closer still. “But if I drive you, we could have lunch at the diner. I haven’t had one of those soft ice-cream treats they serve in days.”
Dread pounded in his heart. Those first days after leaving him—before she’d hired on as a loan officer at the bank— Gabrielle had taken a job as a waitress at the diner. What if going in there, being surrounded by all that black-and-white tile and chrome, brought everything racing back?
He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Absolutely not. You suffered a concussion, don’t forget, and I don’t want you driving the truck yet.” Another truth to add to the good side of his lies-v.-honesty ledger.
But there was something dark in her eyes. Anger? Resentment? Was it any wonder, when seconds ago he’d admitted how bullheaded he’d sounded, and here he was doing it again?
He quickly added, “That old jalopy doesn’t have power steering or power brakes. I want you to rest today.” Almost as an afterthought, he tacked on, “Okay?”
She frowned. “Honestly, Drew. Why do you always treat me like I’m made of spun glass?” Doubling a fist, she shook it under his nose. “I’m tougher than I look, mister. So I got a little bump on the head.”
“Gabrielle,” he began, one brow high on his forehead and a finger to the tip of her nose, “Doc said you weren’t to exert yourself in any way.” He drew her nearer to add, “I’ve already broken that rule by allowing you to talk me into, um, exerting yourself, twice in twelve hours. You want him to take a poke at me?”
Hiding a grin behind one hand, she shook her head. “And he’d do it, too, wouldn’t he.”
She must have remembered the story he’d told her, about the time when he was six or seven, and Doc Parker whacked his behind for climbing to the top of his TV antenna. “You do anything like that again,” the man had warned, “and I’ll paddle your bottom.”
“Yep,” Drew agreed, “he would.”
Her laughter was like cooling salve on a raw burn. She seemed to be enjoying his company, the way she had back in the early days of their marriage, before she started thinking of him as—what had she called him that night?—a control freak, a bossy know-it-all, a rigid and uncompromising jerk.
Drew placed both hands on her shoulders, grateful as all get-out for the love-light radiating from her eyes. He decided, standing there in the warm glow of it, that he’d be a fool to mess this up. How many chances did he think the Good Lord was going to give him? It was in His capable hands now, whether she got her memory back, started hating him again, left for good.
If she left again, Drew thought grimly.
On the other hand, maybe by the grace of God, he’d be able to use this time wisely, show her that he knew how to be the kind of husband she’d said she wanted, the kind of husband she deserved.
“So tell me, Mrs. Cunningham, what can I fix you for breakfast?”
She frowned again, but a smile gentled it considerably. “I’ll have you know that I spent the better part of yesterday afternoon putting my pantry and cupboards back in order. Seems you must have offered to empty the dishwasher, and in a weak moment, I foolishly said yes.” Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed his Adam’s apple. “After the mess you made, you don’t honestly think I ever intend to let you into my kitchen again, do you?”
He remembered how she’d always lined up the cups and glasses in the cabinets, how every spoon and fork in the silverware drawer ended up in a neat stack, how she kept the canned goods in straight rows in the pantry, how she organized their closets with military precision. For a while after she left, he’d tried to keep things that way, but before long her “way” of doing things only served to remind him how very much he missed everything about her.
“I’ll get Troy to follow me into town,” he said suddenly. “Soon as we get some eggs and ham into your—”
She grabbed his hand, lay it flat against her stomach. “By Jove,” she said, imitating a thick British accent, “oy think we did it.”
“Did it? Did what?”
Pressing his hand more tightly to her, she rolled her eyes. “Made a baby, of course!”
It took every ounce of self-control for him to keep his mouth shut. Because, as he had watched her sleep last night, he’d more or less hoped the same thing. On the one hand, God couldn’t grace them with a better gift. On the other, if a baby was a result of their loving night, and she got her memory back.
Drew preferred not to think about that right now. Right now, she needed his strength, his stability, his protection—not his self-centered doubts and fears.
“Are you as happy as I am, Drew?”
Looking into those wide, sparkling eyes, staring at that angelic, naive face, how could he say anything but “I’ve never been happier, Gabby.” Three lies, three truths. At least there’s some balance to this miserable mess, he told himself.
His answer seemed to satisfy her, and she walked into the closet, lifted a pair of jeans from a shelf and took a T-shirt from its hanger. “Drew?”
He followed her into the closet, wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Hmm?”
Pointer finger aimed at the wall, she said, “Where did all these shelves come from?”
He’d built them in the weeks after she left, hoping that when she came to her senses, when she came home, she’d see this small alteration in his otherwise well-regulated life as proof that he was willing to compromise, for her.
