suggested. “But if your wife was wearing it, the doctors would have removed it when she came in. You can check with the nurses’ station to retrieve personal articles.”
Grant nodded, then frantically jerked his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a picture and handed it to Emma. Her hands shook as she studied the photo of the three of them sitting on a green floral-print sofa. Grant looked totally masculine against the country-style furniture. He’d draped an arm around her, and she cradled an infant in her arms. A bouquet of pink balloons danced in the background. But it was the tender smile on her face that squeezed her heart. She really had a child. And she was married.
But she had amnesia.
Grant folded her trembling hand in his and kissed each of her fingers, but Emma instinctively tensed. “It’ll be all right, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing her hand against his cheek. “We’ll work it out somehow.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “Do you recall anything about the accident, Mrs. Wadsworth?”
Emma shook her head. “No, what kind of accident was it?”
“A car accident. You apparently lost control and went off the road.”
“I don’t remember.” The knot of apprehension in her chest tightened. “Was anyone else involved?”
“No, you were alone.”
“Thank goodness,” Emma whispered in relief. Then she remembered the voice calling to her in her sleep, the voice that told her she should have died. “Was… was there someone else here…in my room besides you?”
“I was here and Kate came to see you,” Grant said softly.
“It was someone else, someone who told me I should have died,” Emma said. Her hand flew to her throat. “I felt like I was choking.”
Grant stroked her hair from her face. “You must have been dreaming.” But he exchanged a worried look with the doctor.
“We gave you some medication, Mrs. Wadsworth, and sometimes it plays tricks on the mind. The best thing for you to do is rest,” the doctor suggested. “Don’t push it. You need time to heal.”
“He’s right.” Grant gave her hand a squeeze. “Why don’t you try to sleep for a while?”
Maybe they were right. Maybe it had been a dream. But the voice had seemed so real, as threatening as Grant’s had been loving.
Weariness settled deep in Emma’s bones. She barely managed a nod before her eyelids closed. But the doctor’s voice penetrated the haze surrounding her, and the bliss of sleep she craved eluded her.
“Um, Mr. Wadsworth, why don’t we step outside and talk,” the doctor suggested in a low voice.
Panic rippled through her as she realized the doctor wanted to speak to this man alone. What was the doctor going to tell her…her husband? She must have muttered some kind of sound or protest, because Grant clasped her hand again and brought it to his chest where he pressed it against his shirt. She felt the steady rhythm of his heart, warm and full of life beneath her palm. Someone had tried to hurt her, or at least she’d dreamed they had. But not this man. His voice had penetrated her nightmares, had saved her. Hadn’t it? Or had she been dreaming that, too?
“I’ll be right there, Doctor,” Grant said. Emma heard the door close, then studied Grant through heavy eyelids, both relieved and disturbed that he’d stayed with her.
She laid her other hand over her throbbing head, fighting nausea. She couldn’t believe it—she was married to this stranger, had conceived and given birth to his child, and she couldn’t remember one thing about either of them. She swallowed, trying to hold back a sob, but tears seeped through her now tightly closed lids and rolled down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry, honey, it’s going to be okay,” Grant whispered, his voice tender, comforting. She opened her eyes just as he lowered his head against the side of the bed, his slumped posture at odds with his muscular build. He had to be hurting as much as she was. The scent of his musky aftershave wafted toward her. He was so close his thick hair tickled her arm. Instinctively she reached out to run her hands through the black strands, pushing them away from his wide cheekbones, but when her fingers brushed his stubbled jaw, she pulled away. She couldn’t touch this man. She didn’t even know him.
“I’m sorry…so sorry,” she whispered. “Why is this happening?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart, but you don’t need to worry about it right now. You’ve been through a lot,” he said softly. “Just close your eyes and rest.”
He moved to leave. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“I’ll be right here when you wake up.” Grant pressed a kiss to her hand. “Everything’s going to be all right now.”
Emma felt another surge of fear. She struggled to look at the man beside her, but fatigue clawed at her. Her eyelids were so heavy. She was so tired…but she needed to stay awake…to find out what was going on….
Grant slipped his hand from hers and left the room, and an emptiness swelled inside her, so deep and powerful it yanked her from the hazy lull of exhaustion. She tried to shove aside her worries, but questions reverberated through her head. She remembered her mother, her father, her sister, Kate. She should have asked Grant about them—was her mother still healthy, did Kate and her husband still live nearby? She remembered high school graduation, going to college…. Why couldn’t she remember her own husband? And her little girl?
Hot tears slid down her cheeks again and she pressed her hand to her stomach, a low sob escaping her. What was going to happen now?
She wasn’t ready to be a stranger’s wife.
WHEN GRANT STEPPED into the hallway, he saw the detective approaching, and his nerves went on alert.
“I came to check out that oxygen mask,” Warner said. “The nurses were concerned. They didn’t think Mrs. Wadsworth could have removed it and ripped out her IV like that.”
Grant leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. Confusion, fear and anger almost overwhelmed him.
“Can I talk to your wife now?” Warner asked. “I need to ask her some questions.”
The doctor explained about Emma’s memory loss. “You need to let her rest, don’t put any stress on her,” he cautioned. He excused himself to answer a page.
“Do you really think someone intentionally ran Emma off the road?” Grant asked.
“According to our witness, that’s what happened. There were two sets of tire marks. We took samples of the black paint on your wife’s car,” Warner said. “I was hoping when your wife woke up she could tell us more.”
Grant glanced at the hospital-room door in despair. So was he. Instead, Emma didn’t even remember their life together. Or that they had a child.
GRANT CUDDLED CARLY close and stroked his finger along her soft creamy skin. “Oh, sweetheart, you miss Mommy, don’t you?” He propped her on his shoulder, inhaling the fresh scent of baby powder. She cried more loudly, and he changed positions,
