Her Forgotten Husband

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Copyright

“Garrick, exactly how long have I been pregnant?”

“About twelve weeks,” he admitted.

Samantha shook her head slowly. “You married me because I was pregnant, didn’t you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then why?”

“I married you,” he said, “because I thought we had a good chance of being happy together.” They did. Ten years of friendship was the strongest basis for marriage he could imagine.

“And because you got me pregnant,” Samantha said.

“Your pregnancy did have something to do with it,” he admitted.

She looked disappointed. “You don’t love me?”

If only she knew what she was saying! But he couldn’t tell her the truth. Even amnesia wasn’t enough to erase the last ten years.

Dear Reader,

The month of June makes me think of June brides, Father’s Day and the first bloom of summer love. And Silhouette Romance is celebrating the start of summer with six wonderful books about love and romance.

Our BUNDLE OF JOY this month is delivered by Stella Bagwell’s The Tycoon’s Tots—her thirtieth Silhouette book. As her TWINS ON THE DOORSTEP miniseries continues, we finally discover who gets to keep those adorable babies…and find romance in the bargain.

Elizabeth August is back with her much-loved SMYTHESHIRE, MASSACHUSETTS series. In The Determined Virgin you’ll meet a woman whose marriage of convenience is proving to be very inconvenient, thanks to her intense attraction to her “in-name-only” husband.

BACHELOR GULCH is a little town that needs women, and the name of Sandra Steffen’s brand-new miniseries. The fun begins in Luke’s Would-Be Bride as a local bachelor falls for his feisty receptionist—the one woman in town not looking for a husband!

And there are plenty more compelling romances for you this month: A lovely lady rancher can’t wait to hightail it out of Texas—till she meets her handsome new foreman in Leanna Wilson’s Lone Star Rancher. A new husband can’t bear to tell his amnesiac bride that the baby she’s carrying isn’t his, in Her Forgotten Husband by Anne Ha. And one lucky cowboy discovers a night of passion has just made him a daddy in Teresa Southwick’s The Bachelor’s Baby.

I hope you enjoy all of June’s books!

Melissa Senate,

Senior Editor

Silhouette Romance

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Her Forgotten Husband

Anne Ha

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Ben and Patti, with lots of groovy love.

Many thanks to Monica Caltabiano for her fabulous

critiquing, to Rachel Jones for strategically timed

brainstorming and to Donna Jean for those lifesaving

ice-cream breaks.

ANNE HA

is the pen name of Anne and Joe Thoron, a husbandand-wife writing team. College sweethearts, they live in Oregon with two naughty cats and a vegetable garden. They love to travel and meet all different kinds of people. Their first book, Husband Next Door, was a finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award.

Chapter One

He seemed quite sane.

The handsome man seated by her bed—the man cradling her hand in his and murmuring endearments—did not appear demented, deranged or otherwise unbalanced.

But she’d never seen him before in her life.

He was a total stranger.

A moment ago she’d awakened, blinking in the bright hospital lights, to his inexplicable presence. She hated to spoil his pleasure, his obvious relief, but she couldn’t go on acting as if she knew him.

Gently she pulled her hand from his grasp and edged a few inches away.

“Sweetheart?” The man’s voice was deep and husky. A few days’ beard growth shadowed his jaw, giving him a sensual, tousled look which grew more pronounced as he raked his fingers through his dark brown hair. “You’re not still angry?”

Angry? Now there was a question that didn’t make sense! She had no reason to be angry. The only thing bothering her was the pounding ache in her head. It grew worse with every passing second.

Raising a hand to massage her temple, she drew back when her fingers encountered soft gauze. A bandage! Amazed, she gingerly traced the gauze, wincing at a shaft of pain.

“You all right?” the stranger asked.

“My head hurts,” she said, and shut her eyes. The darkness brought relief, wrapping her in its safe cocoon.

“I’m sure it does, after the wallop you gave it. You’ve had a concussion, you know.”

She frowned, eyes still closed. “I have?”

“Two days ago. Your car went off that nasty curve on Humphrey Boulevard. It hit a tree, but you were lucky—just suffered the concussion and a few cuts and bruises.”

She couldn’t bring herself to reply. It was easier to lie still between the starched white hospital sheets, to let the blankness ease the pain.

Briefly the stranger touched her shoulder, his fingers warming her skin. It felt nice, she thought, a bit guiltily. She heard him move, knew he stood over the bed. Heat emanated from his body, and she breathed in the spicy male scent of him. It wasn’t at all familiar, but it was oddly compelling.

“I’ll tell the doctor you’re awake,” he said.

But he didn’t leave, and she had the feeling he watched her intently.

After a moment he kissed her forehead, the contact light and fleeting. “I’m glad you’re all right, Sam. If I’d lost you…”

She opened her eyes, caught by one word. “Sam?”

He straightened, giving her a tired smile. “Sorry. I meant to say Samantha. I’ll get used to it someday.”

“Samantha,” she echoed. Confusion and anxiety rose inside her. Who in the world was Samantha?

Not her, surely. She didn’t feel like a Samantha. She felt like a…like a…

Nothing came to mind. No name seemed to fit.

Meeting the stranger’s expectant gaze, she struggled not to show her distress. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t speak. She felt lost, adrift.

Closing her eyes again, she tried to make sense of her situation. She knew she lay in a hospital room, could recognize its antiseptic smells. She knew the prickling discomfort in her left arm was caused by an IV needle, that the humming sound came from fluorescent lights.

But that was where it stopped. She didn’t know who she was. Or where she lived or how old she was or what kind of car she drove.

Oh, good Lord, she thought. She didn’t even know if she had any family or what she did for a living…

The man cleared his throat, interrupting her panic attack. “By the way,” he said, his voice soft. “The baby is fine.”

At first she thought she hadn’t heard him correctly. She swallowed and stared up at him, unable to keep the bewilderment from her face. “The, uh, baby?”

Could she be a mother? It didn’t seem possible. She had absolutely no recollection of changing diapers or of getting up for nighttime feedings. No recollection of childbirth.

“Yes,” the stranger answered. “The doctor said the accident had no ill effects.”

She grimaced, still not sure she had a baby. But maybe she would remember him—or was it her?— and would feel overjoyed it hadn’t been hurt. In the meantime all she could do was smile and try to think of something to say.

“Thank goodness for car seats!” she managed.

The man didn’t smile back. In fact, he looked decidedly concerned. His brows lowered and his slate gray eyes narrowed.

Darn it. Obviously she hadn’t been maternal enough. She tried again. “Thanks for the reassurance. I feel so much better knowing my baby is okay. I’m really looking forward to holding…it…in my arms again.”

His frown deepened. “Samantha…”

What did he want from her? So what if she couldn’t remember the gender of her child? A few seconds ago she hadn’t even known she had a baby, and now he was trying to hold her to some unreachable maternal ideal.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

He sat back down on the chair, holding her hand while he studied her face. She felt as if he were trying to gaze into her soul. And he didn’t seem pleased by what he saw.

“Samantha,” he said, “there’s something you should know.” He paused, appearing to choose his words with care. “The baby wasn’t in a car seat.”

“What?” she blurted. He was lying. He had to be. She couldn’t have been so irresponsible! “Look, mister, I don’t know what bee flew into your bonnet today, but I do not appreciate your accusations of neglect. Of course I put my child in a car seat!”

He shook his head slowly, those watchful gray eyes still on her.

“And before you make any more snide comments on my parenting,” she added, “go out and try it yourself. It’s not as easy as it looks.”

In response to her bravado, an annoying grin tugged at the corners of his mouth—his very attractive, sensuous mouth.

She scowled, unable to see what he found so amusing.

“Samantha,” he said, “the baby wasn’t in a car seat because it hasn’t been born yet.”

She was so relieved she hadn’t been a neglectful mother that the full import of his words didn’t immediately sink in.

When it did, she glanced down at her stomach, then slowly reached out to feel it. Through the sheet, she cupped her hand around the slight curve of her abdomen. Was that a baby? Or just her body’s normal shape? She had no way of knowing.

“I’m pregnant?” she asked. She didn’t feel particularly pregnant.

He nodded.

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

Her gaze returned to her belly. He sounded adamant. Too adamant not to be right.

She felt a sudden wave of tenderness, thinking a new life grew within her. She was fiercely glad her baby hadn’t been harmed in the crash. “I haven’t been this way for long, have I?”

“No, not that long.”

She couldn’t take her eyes off her stomach. A baby! How wonderful and strange.

Then an awkward thought occurred to her. She didn’t know how to ask at first, but then realized she didn’t need to ask at all. Instead, she looked down at the fingers of her left hand. Yes, she wore a wedding ring.

The stranger followed her gaze. “I slipped it back on this morning,” he said, as if it was a confession.

She peered at the simple gold band. “I’m married.” Her voice was full of wonder.

Still holding her other hand, he gave it a squeeze. “It certainly appears that way.”

The band was delicate and nicely proportioned, she noted, but it wasn’t in any way familiar. It didn’t spark any memories. “I’m married,” she said again.

“Yes.”

She sighed. “That’s a relief. I don’t think I’d like to be a single mother…. You wouldn’t, er, happen to know who my husband is, would you?”

“As a matter of fact, I would.”

“Who is it?”

His expression turned wry. He raised her fingers to his mouth, kissed them with warm, gentle lips and said, “Me.”

She snatched her hand from his grasp. “You?”

The man nodded. “Yes, me.”

She stared at him, not wanting to believe she could be married to a man she didn’t even recognize. “That’s—that’s crazy. I didn’t marry you. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

He shook his head. “It’s definitely time to get the doctor.”

“But—”

“I’ll be right back,” he told her, and left.

She blew out a stream of air. “I would never,” she said to the empty room, “marry such an impossible man.”

True, he was attractive. Extremely attractive. His body was long and lean, and his sculpted features made him look like a Greek god. Maybe she’d been carried away on a tide of desire.

No, no, she couldn’t be married to him. She couldn’t have kissed a man like him, have lain in his arms, and not remembered it. Somehow she knew the power of his lovemaking would sear into her soul. She’d have remembered it.

The power of his lovemaking…

Good grief! She’d only known the man ten minutes, and already she was mentally having her way with him. It wasn’t like her to fantasize about strangers. She’d always reserved her fantasies for…for…

The wisp of memory, if that was what it was, slipped from her grasp like a ribbon of smoke. She closed her eyes as her headache intensified.

What was the name? She’d been about to think of a man’s name.

But it didn’t come, and the more she struggled to retrieve it, the more her head pounded.

Anyway, she told herself, what was the point of remembering some guy’s name, when she didn’t even know her own?

The stranger, of course, had called her Samantha. Could that really be right? She said it out loud a few times, trying to accustom herself. It sounded foreign to her own ears, as did her voice.

She started when the door to her room swung open. The stranger walked back in, accompanied by two women. She wasn’t ready for them yet, she thought. She wanted more time to orient herself, to get control of the situation.

One of the women, dressed in a doctor’s coat, approached her. She studied the machines above the bed, then held up a light and briefly shone it into each of her eyes. “I’m Dr. Hernandez,” she said in a friendly, soothing tone. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Except for this awful headache.”

Dr. Hernandez nodded. The other woman, who appeared to be a nurse, handed her a chart on a clipboard. The doctor made a few notations. “That’s normal in a case such as this. Can you tell me your name?”

She debated for a moment. Technically the answer was no. But if she gave them the name the man had called her, maybe they’d leave her alone. “Samantha,” she said brightly.

The others exchanged glances.

“Samantha what?” Dr. Hernandez asked.

She stared meditatively up at the ceiling. “Samantha… er…Bergman?”

Silence.

“Samantha Bogart?”

Silence.

“Hepburn? Tracy?” She wasn’t getting anywhere. And the man looked amused again. She glared at him. “All right, so I don’t know my last name. So what does that prove?”

The doctor patted her arm and continued the examination. “It appears you’ve suffered some memory loss. Do you know what city you’re in?”

She searched her mind for the name of a city. “Um, New York?”

Dr. Hernandez shook her head. “Sorry. You’re in Portland, Oregon. According to your husband, you’ve lived here all your life.” She glanced at the man beside her. “Garrick tells me you don’t believe you’re married to him.”

“I’m not.” It sounded petulant, but she didn’t care. She felt exposed and vulnerable, as if she were the butt of a joke that everyone got but her. She narrowed her eyes on her so-called husband. “Garrick?” she said. “Is that your name?”

He nodded.

“But I’ve never heard it before in my life. First name or last?”

“First. It’s Garrick Randall.”

The doctor patted her arm again. “I know this must be a confusing time for you, but he is your husband. The hospital verified it. Now, I expect to release you into his care tomorrow, after we run a few more tests. As long as you’re recovering well from the blow to your head, and it hasn’t hurt your pregnancy, there’s no reason to keep you here.”

“But what about my memory? Shouldn’t I stay until I get it back?” She felt intense trepidation at the idea of leaving the hospital, leaving the only world she’d known so far. Especially if she had to leave with a man she couldn’t remember.

Dr. Hernandez pursed her lips. “Unfortunately, Samantha, there’s nothing we can do about your memory. It may return in a few hours or a few days, or it may drift slowly back over a period of months.” She smiled gently. “I’ll have a counselor speak with you about it first thing tomorrow.”

A few minutes later the doctor left with Garrick. The nurse removed the IV, smoothed the covers and turned off the overhead lights before following them.

Then she was alone. It wasn’t as much of a relief as she’d thought it would be. In the light from the single fixture by the bed, the room seemed unbearably stark. There was one small window, but it revealed only darkness and a few distant street lamps. She wondered how many hours she would have to endure before morning.

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but she’d been fast asleep for two whole days, so she knew it was futile.

Garrick kept slipping into her mind, with his tousled dark hair and appealing male scent. She almost missed him.

Well, she supposed that made sense. It really did seem as if she’d married him. And she’d probably done it for a good reason. She probably loved him!

Too bad she couldn’t remember.

She still didn’t feel like a Samantha, she thought. Maybe she never would. Maybe she’d always hated the name.

The door swung open with a quiet swish, and Garrick entered. He met her eyes and smiled a tender, disturbingly sexy smile.

“I thought you’d gone home,” she said.

“Eager to be rid of me?”

Mutely she shook her head. On the contrary, his presence gave her pleasure—but she wasn’t quite willing to admit it.

He crossed to the chair and picked up an overnight bag that had been stashed beneath it. His back to her, he rummaged through the contents.

Samantha watched him while he did so. He wore faded jeans and a wrinkled white oxford shirt that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. She could see his muscles shift underneath it as he moved.

This man was her husband, she thought. The father of the small life growing inside her. How…odd.

Even though she couldn’t remember it, she’d actually made love with him. She’d run her fingers over his warm skin, kissed his full, sensuous lips.

And other places as well.

Despite the pounding in her head, a spark of excitement ran through her. There must be worse fates than being married to such an attractive man, she decided. Even if he was a little maddening.

He turned to face her. His features had a rugged beauty that drew her gaze to his beard-darkened cheeks and the line of his jaw. His gray eyes were like sun-warmed granite—hard but not cold.

Samantha’s attention drifted downward. Garrick wore his sleeves rolled back, revealing muscled forearms lightly sprinkled with hair. His legs were strong and well shaped, his hips lean. He had the body of a man who enjoyed physical activity, who skied, played tennis, jogged, made love….

She felt a sudden urge to touch him, to learn with her fingertips whether his body was as strong and firm as it looked.

Garrick’s hands came up and unfastened the top button of his shirt. She watched, mesmerized, as deft fingers slid the second button free. And the third. She saw dark hair curling on the sharply defined planes of his chest.

Her mouth went dry.

Three more buttons. He tugged the shirt free of his waistband, revealing a washboard stomach.

“What are you doing?” she croaked.

His hands stilled, but he didn’t answer. The shirt hung loose around his torso. Dark hair arrowed down his stomach and disappeared under his waistband.

She swallowed painfully.

With blessedly quick movements, Garrick shed the wrinkled oxford and replaced it with a black T-shirt.

Samantha cursed herself for a fool. She’d acted as if he were putting on some sort of striptease, as if he could read her mind and the unseemly thoughts that went on in it, when he’d only been changing.

They were married, she reminded herself. There was no reason for him not to change his shirt in front of her—especially when it looked as if he’d slept in it for a week.

He handed her a square leather purse. “I thought you might want this.”

Happy for a distraction, Samantha took the purse. She sorted through its contents, hoping something would look familiar.

Nothing did. The pocket calendar, face powder, lipstick and address book might all have belonged to someone else. Even her driver’s license, which showed a five-foot-five, twenty-five-year-old woman with brown eyes and long blond hair, didn’t elicit a flicker of recognition. She flipped through the address book without knowing a single one of the names that were written in a slanted, flowing script. Sighing, she put everything back in the purse.

“Nothing?” he asked.

“Not a thing. It’s like digging into someone else’s purse. I feel like a trespasser.” She held out the driver’s license. “Do I really look like this?”

He glanced at the license, then at her. “Close enough, though it’s not the most flattering picture—makes your hair look limp and your eyes look small and beady.”

“Thanks.”

He grinned back at her. “You asked.”

Samantha fingered a lock of her hair, which was loosely tied at the nape of her neck. The strands felt thick and soft. She pulled it over her shoulder to inspect it, but the unfamiliarity of the pale gold color disturbed her.

“There’s a mirror in the bathroom, in case you’d like to see your face.”

Something made her shake her head, despite her curiosity. The throbbing headache grew sharper with her movement.

She told herself it would be too much trouble to get out of bed, but in the back of her mind she knew her response was more complicated. If she looked in the mirror, she would have to confront a stranger’s face—even though she’d had it for twenty-five years. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for such a highly charged encounter.

The magnitude of her situation finally struck her full force. She knew nothing at all about herself or her life. She had only what she could learn from the foreign-looking items in her purse, and from Garrick. Without them she’d be completely at a loss.

It made her feel vulnerable, helpless.

It made her feel like a nonentity.

Garrick watched the expressions play across Samantha’s face. She’d never been good at hiding her thoughts and emotions. He could tell her panic had returned.

Taking her hand, he held it once more between his. “It’ll be okay, Sam. Your memory will return.”

She stared back at him, her brown eyes dazed. “When?”

Garrick paused. He still had trouble comprehending the fact that she’d lost her memory. How could her whole life disappear just like that? How could she not remember the past ten years? It must be utterly overwhelming. “I don’t know, Sam,” he said. “But I’ll stay with you and support you till it does.”

She lay back. “I’m scared.”

“I know you are. Everything will be all right, though. You and the baby are alive, and that’s what matters.” He stroked her hand until she slowly relaxed. Amazing, he thought, that his touch could have such an effect on her, as if she drew strength from him, from his nearness.