hug.
“Don’t be silly,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I’m fine.”
You’re good, honey, he thought, real good. And if he didn’t know her better, he might just swallow that bowl of bravado she’d just dished out. But her usually rosy cheeks were pale, and there was a blue cast to her otherwise pink lips. He didn’t like the way she was weaving and bobbing around the kitchen like a boxer who’d given his all in the ring, either.
“I’m fine. Really.”
“How ’bout we let a doctor be the judge of that?”
“But Drew,” she protested, hanging back as he opened the door, “our romantic anniversary supper is almost ready. All I have to do is light the candles.” She glanced out the window. “And Triumph, he’s—”
He took a quick look around. Why hadn’t he noticed before that she’d set the dining room table with the good dishes and flatware? Why hadn’t he seen that she’d put the silver candlesticks in the middle of his grandma’s linen tablecloth? His heart swelled, knowing she’d gone to so much trouble for him—for them—in her condition.
But how had she accomplished it, swooning like a drunken sailor as she must have been? Stubbornness, he decided, doing his best to hide a grin.
“Besides,” she persisted, “the nearest hospital is an hour away, in Bozeman, and you gave the hands the day off, remember? So they could go to Oktoberfest? We can’t leave the Walking C unattended that long.”
Oktoberfest? But that was—
“We can,” he said, turning off the oven, “and we will.” He jammed the Stetson onto his head. “And I don’t want to hear another word about it.” He grabbed her fringed jacket from the peg behind the door and shook it a time or two, like a matador tempting a bull.
“How about a compromise?” she asked, as he helped her into it.
Drew held the door open, as she stepped onto the porch. The night she’d left, his inflexibility was just one of the things she’d claimed was driving her away. He remembered his prayer: if the Almighty would see to it that Gabrielle was home to stay, he’d do whatever it took to make everything up to her.
“What sort of compromise?”
“Take me to Livingston, instead, to see Doc Parker.”
“Okay,” he agreed, nodding. “That makes sense.” He touched a scolding finger to her nose. “But if he sees anything suspicious, anything at all, we’re heading straight to Bozeman.” Narrowing his eyes, he added, “Got it?”
She sent him a flirty half grin and kissed the tip of that finger. “Got it.”
Habit made him head for the pickup. And then he saw the car he’d bought the week before Gabrielle left him. He’d seen it on the lot weeks before the breakup and had thought how cute she’d look behind the wheel, how much easier it would be for her to get into and out of, especially when she got all gussied up in one of her short skirts and high heels….
Much to his surprise—and dismay—she’d taken one look at the vehicle and stomped into the house without saying a word. One week later, to the day, she left him…in that car.
More than likely, the doc would confirm Drew’s suspicion that Gabrielle had suffered a concussion. How mild or severe was yet to be seen, but getting into and out of his high-riding pickup wouldn’t be easy for her.
Sighing, Drew helped her into the passenger seat of the car. As he revved the motor, he tried to ignore the fact that both Triumph and Chum still stood outside the barn, saddled and bridled and ungroomed. First things first, he told himself, and Gabby would always be the most important earthly being in his life.
He tried even harder not to react when she slid across the front seat and rested her head on his shoulder. Without giving it a second thought, his right arm went around her. What had made her snuggle up the way she used to? Instinct? A need for protection? Love?
But another question rang even louder in his mind. And if curiosity had killed the cat, Drew figured, he was as good as gone. As much as he wanted to know what had brought Gabby home, he was even more curious to know if she planned to stay.
Kent Parker was an old-fashioned country doctor who didn’t believe in sugarcoating things—for patients or their families. So it worried Drew more than a little when the doctor said, “Step into my office. I want to have a word with you in private while Gabrielle gets herself dressed.”
Parker peeled off his latex gloves and tossed them unceremoniously into the nearest trash can. “Your wife will be fine, just fine. She’s suffered a pretty serious concussion, but after a few days of R and R, Gabby will be her ornery old self again.”
“That’s a relief—”
“Bu-u-ut,” the doctor added.
Drew ran a hand through his hair. For all its wide open spaces, Montana may as well have been Mayberry, U.S.A. Because there weren’t a whole passel of folks around, those that were around knew just about everything there was to know about one another. Except for Doc Parker: he knew more than most. And right now, he knew there was a lot on Drew’s mind.
“But,” Drew began, “it only solves one of my problems.” Absently, he stroked his chin. “Frankly, I’m not sure I know what ‘her old self’ is anymore.” Besides, he’d been given a second chance here, and didn’t want to blow it.
The older man dropped a fatherly hand on Drew’s shoulder. “When I heard you two had split up, it nearly broke my heart.” He gave the shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “But she’s back now, and that’s all that matters.”
Drew met the doctor’s clear blue eyes. “Not if she doesn’t remember leaving me.”
Drew had filled the doctor in on the conversation he’d had with Gabrielle in the kitchen earlier. Parker nodded understandingly and sat behind his battered wood desk. “Take a load off, son,” he instructed, gesturing toward a well-worn maroon leather wingback. Once Drew was settled, the doctor leaned back in his own big black chair and clasped his hands behind his gray-haired head. “Living in horse country, I’ve seen this kind of head injury before, too many times to count—and so have you. We both know it isn’t out of the ordinary for someone to temporarily lose a slice of memory when they’ve taken a good hard bump on the bean.”
Placing his Stetson on the seat of the empty chair beside him, Drew leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. “That doesn’t answer my question,” he said to the floor. He met the doctor’s eyes and waited for an answer.
Shrugging one shoulder, Parker said, “Couple of hours, a few days, never…” He shook his head. “Wish I had a straight answer for you, Drew, but these things are iffy at best.” He lifted his white-bearded chin to ask, “Why is it so important to know when she’ll come around?”
Because, Drew answered silently, when she gets her memory back, she’s likely to leave again.
And he didn’t want that. Not now that he’d had another taste of what it felt like, being close to her, having her arms around him and her lips pressed to his.
“I brought you into this world
