“Do you remember our baby?”

“Our baby?” Emma stared at the man who’d identified himself as her husband. The man with the deep, soothing voice who had whispered to her in the darkness.

“Yes…her name is Carly. Here, I’ll show you.” Almost frantically he took his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a picture and handed it to her.

Emma’s hands shook as she studied the photo. Grant looked totally masculine, his arm draped around her. She cradled a beautiful infant in her arms.

But it was the tender smile of pride on her face that squeezed at her heart. She really had a child. And she was married.

But she had amnesia.

Forgotten Lullaby
Rita Herron

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rita Herron is a teacher, workshop leader and storyteller who loves reading, writing and sharing stories with people of all ages. She has published two nonfiction books for adults on working and playing with children, and has won the Golden Heart Award for a young adult story. Rita believes that books taught her to dream, and she loves nothing better than sharing that magic with others. She lives with her “dream” husband and three children, two cats and a dog in Norcross, Georgia.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Emma Wadsworth—A strange accident robbed her of her past; now she must find her future.

Grant Wadsworth—He’ll fight for his wife with the strongest weapon he has: love.

Kate Dillard—Did Emma’s loving sister like Grant far more than she’d ever admitted?

Martha Greer—The Wadsworths’ housekeeper has a dark secret.

Pete Landers—How far would he go to take Grant’s place?

Doug McGuire—Emma’s former employer and old friend is a charming man—but is he a criminal at heart?

Priscilla Weston—Do her career ambitions extend to after hours?

To my three great kids for all the precious memories:

Adam—I’ll never forget the camouflage suit you wore every day to kindergarten, the first time you hit a home run, all the emergency room visits, the teacher who thought you’d be president one day, the day you left home for college and the day you turned my pep talk into a challenge to try something new myself. I did, son—I started writing. Thanks to you.

Elizabeth—I’ll never forget racing from the bus stop to the house to get your blanket in kindergarten because you couldn’t leave home without it, the day we put the house up for sale and you colored the walls with red crayon, the day you set your first Junior National swimming time and won the State Championship meet, your first Homecoming dance, but most of all, your positive attitude and your never-ending beautiful smile.

Emily—I’ll never forget the mustard handprints on the refrigerator, the day the rabbit had babies (when you’d conveniently forgotten to tell us you had bred her), the posters you made when you wanted a big dog, the numerous awards you won in eighth grade, your first soccer goal and most of all, your wonderful independence and drive.

Love always,

Mom

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

Bright headlights appeared in Emma’s rearview mirror, almost blinding her. She sped up slightly, yet the car behind bore down on her tail. Suddenly uneasy, she adjusted the mirror to deflect the light. She hit a pothole and had to brake. Tires squealed behind her, and she clutched the steering wheel, afraid the other vehicle was going to hit her.

She grimaced, wishing he’d back off. The road was deserted, and too curvy for high speeds. Thank goodness she only had a few more miles to go and she’d be home with her baby and husband. Her sister Kate’s comments about Grant traveling all the time struck a chord of worry, and she fought the troubling feelings. She and her husband were happy—they were simply going through an adjustment phase with the new baby. All couples went through it. Didn’t they?

An image of Grant’s chic co-worker, Priscilla, hovered in her mind. So cool and sophisticated, hair perfect, body trim, lips painted a deep kiss-me red, Priscilla wouldn’t be caught dead looking as rumpled as Emma had since the baby had arrived. Emma and Grant needed to spend some time alone, quality time without their daughter in tow. Maybe they should hire a sitter, have a romantic evening alone, rekindle their romance—

She swerved to avoid another pothole. The vehicle behind her roared straight over it without even slowing. The woods flanking the road suddenly seemed eerily dark and lonely. A sprinkling of snow dusted the North Carolina highway and dotted the windshield, and tree branches swayed and dipped in the evening wind. She dragged her gaze from the shadowy woods, deciding she’d been watching too many late-night movies while feeding Carly.

Poor baby. Carly had cried with an earache all morning. Emma finally understood how much a mother could hurt for her child. Automatically her hand swept the front passenger seat for Carly’s prescription. Instead, she contacted a tube—of lipstick. She gripped the wheel tight with one hand and brought the tube up for inspection. Odd, it wasn’t a color she wore. It was red. Priscilla’s red. Kate’s warnings about men having affairs strummed through her conscience. No, Grant wouldn’t—

A horn blasted and the vehicle swerved around her, clipping her rear bumper. Panic streaked through her. She braked again. The guy had been following too close, but this…this was crazy. Was he drunk?

An oncoming set of headlights flashed in the bend of the road. Emma slowed so that the other vehicle—it looked like some sort of SUV—could pass. Instead, he grazed her again, and she skidded sideways toward the side of the road. She clenched the steering wheel as she fought to control the car, her heart pounding. The oncoming vehicle blasted its horn. Oh, God! Her car was going to collide with an eighteen-wheeler!

Emma fought the slide, bringing her Honda back in the lane. The sports vehicle suddenly slowed, falling in behind her again. The air exploded from her lungs. The oncoming truck passed, a hairbreadth from her bumper, and blared its horn again. Perspiration trickled down her face.

She glanced in the rearview mirror and panic welled inside her when the sports vehicle sped up again. Metal ground against metal as he slammed her from behind. Whoever was driving the car was hitting her on purpose! She began to pump the brakes, but her car skidded off the road.

Burning rubber filled her nostrils. The force of the skid ripped the steering wheel from her hands. She grabbed it again and tried to get control. The SUV side-swiped the Honda once more, this time with such jarring force her car jolted sideways and spun 180 degrees.

The windshield exploded. Shards of glass gouged her arms and face. Pain tore through her head and blood, hot and salty, filled her mouth. As the world went dark, an image of Carly and Grant flashed through her mind. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She should have told them she loved them one more time.

And she should have kissed them both goodbye.

GRANT WADSWORTH stared in horror as rescue workers tried desperately to pry open the door of Emma’s small car. She lay inside, unconscious, blood dripping down the side of her face, her skin chalky white. He shuddered, feeling sick all over. A chill engulfed him, not from the cold January wind blowing outside, but from raw stark fear. Another mile and she would have been home, safe and sound with him and Carly. But now…

“Please don’t let her die.” He choked on the last word.

A police officer stood beside him, one hand on his arm as if he expected Grant to bolt for the Honda at any minute. He would, if he thought he could rescue her without harming her more. Chaos surrounded him. They’d dragged out rescue equipment he’d never seen or heard of. Emergency workers, firefighters, police officers, all racing against time to save his wife. While he simply stood by, helpless.

At last the mangled door was torn off, and two paramedics secured Emma’s head and neck, then took her vitals. Another radioed in the information. Their voices and orders faded in and out of his consciousness as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

“Pulse sixty-five, weak and thready, respiration thirty, shallow, BP eighty over fifty…start an IV drip of…let’s cut away her seat belt…on three, we’ll lift her. One, two, three.”

He stared at the dangling seatbelt, now in shreds. Thank God she’d worn it. If only she’d had an air bag. “God, if she dies, I’ll never forgive myself.” He lunged forward to reach her, but the policeman grabbed his arm.

“Let them take care of her. They need to stabilize her.”

Grant collapsed against the side of the police car.

“Are you all right, sir?”

Grant shook his head. “I will be when I know she’s okay. I’m not losing her,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not now, not ever.”

“Looks like there might have been another car involved,” the police officer said quietly. “I found two sets of skid marks. And there’s black paint chips on the Honda. I’m Detective Warner. My men are questioning the crowd for witnesses.”

Grant nodded, confused. So where was the other car? His gaze tracked the parcel of gatherers at the scene. Could someone have seen Emma’s accident?

The detective cleared his throat. “How did you make it here so fast?”

Grant’s head jerked up at the implication. Or had he imagined the suspicious tone in the detective’s voice? “I live about a mile from here. When you called I…I raced right over.”

The detective grunted in acknowledgment. “They say most accidents happen within five miles of your own house.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “Doesn’t make it any easier, does it?”

“No,” Grant mumbled, his gaze on the mangled car. The rescue workers yelled they were ready to go, and he clenched his hands by his sides as he watched them secure Emma onto the boarded stretcher. Panic and guilt clogged his throat. Memories of another young woman floated into his consciousness—she was bleeding, still and lifeless…he should have done something… God, no, Emma couldn’t die.

He couldn’t lose Emma. He moved to her side and took her limp icy hand in his, kissing it ever so gently, careful of the scrapes on her palms. “Hang on, honey, please hang on. I love you. And I need you so much.”

“Let’s go.” The paramedics hoisted her into the ambulance.

He climbed inside and knelt beside her, massaging her hand between his, a sick feeling swirling inside him at the blood matted in her honey-colored hair. “You can’t leave us, Emma. Carly and I both need you. We love you, sweetheart.”

“We found this in the car,” an officer said, holding up Carly’s prescription.

“It’s for my baby,” Grant explained. “She’s at home with the sitter.”

“I’ll get someone to drop it by.”

Grant recited his address as he traced a finger over the delicate curve of Emma’s chin. The siren screeched and the ambulance jerked into motion. The EMT put an oxygen mask over Emma’s mouth and monitored her vital signs, communicating with the hospital staff over the radio. Her face was so pale. Beneath her eyes her skin had turned a strange bluish color.

“I love you, Emma,” he whispered again. “Don’t you dare die on me.” He kissed her hand, memorizing every detail of her face. She had to make it. She had to survive. He couldn’t live with another woman’s death on his conscience. Especially his wife’s.

THE HOURS DRAGGED into days as Grant held a vigil at Emma’s bedside, praying for a miracle. But her condition hadn’t changed. No news about the person who’d hit her, either.

The steady drip of the IV echoed in the silence of the hospital room, and Grant rubbed his hands up and down his arms, wondering if he would ever be warm again. A few days ago, he’d thought he had everything—a beautiful wife, a new baby, a budding career. If Emma didn’t make it…

Emma’s sister, Kate, crept into the room. “How is she? Any change?”

Grant shook his head, unable to speak.

Kate folded her arms and sighed. “I tried to call Mom, but she’s somewhere en route to Europe. I’ve left messages to let her know what happened.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Kate.”

“Did you reach your folks?”

“Yeah.” He stood, never taking his eyes off of Emma, and thrust a hand through his hair, not caring that the ends spiked haphazardly. “They don’t have the money to fly from Boulder. I offered to pay, even told them the airlines give emergency discount rates, but Dad’s job is in limbo already…” Grant hesitated, aware he was admitting his parents’ financial circumstances.

“I’m sure they’d come if they could.” Kate chewed her bottom lip and he realized he and Kate were actually being civil to each other. They seemed to have called a silent truce in the wake of the accident. Kate stayed with Carly at night. He’d go home long enough to shower and rock his daughter. His stomach twisted painfully as he remembered Carly’s tears the night before. She had never been away from Emma for more than a few hours. She missed her mother, and once again he’d felt helpless.

“I’ll relieve Martha,” Kate said, as if she’d read his mind. Martha Greer was Grant and Emma’s housekeeper. “She’s been great, keeping Carly all day.”

“Yeah.” He saw the sympathy in Kate’s eyes and felt a ridiculous sense of relief to have her there. “Thanks, Kate.”

She gave him a tentative smile, then squeezed his hand. “I love her, too, you know.”

Tears pricked his eyes, but he averted his gaze and swallowed the emotion. Kate brushed Emma’s hair away from her forehead and placed a soft kiss on her temple. “Get well, sis. I’ll treat Carly like she’s my own.”

Grant flinched at the lone tear that streaked down Kate’s cheek. When she closed the door behind her, he slumped in the chair again and took Emma’s hand in his, raking his gaze over her unconscious body. The soft gurgle of the humidifier grated on his frayed nerves. Even knowing the equipment attached to her body was meant to help her, he hated that she needed it. He hated the oxygen mask, the IV needle in her arm, the strong smell of antiseptic and other hospital odors that permeated the room.

He was going crazy counting every breath she took. But it was the only way he could make himself believe she was alive. One breath at a time.

A severe concussion, the doctor had said. Possibly brain damage. They were battling a head wound, the most dangerous and least predictable injury a body could sustain. No one would know the extent of Emma’s injuries, not until the swelling in her brain went down. But she couldn’t have brain damage. Not his Emma.

Still, every hour passed in unconsciousness dimmed the outlook. His fingers trembled as he gently touched the bandage on her head. They’d shaved a small area, stitched the head wound and bandaged it. Ugly purple and yellow bruises marred her face, but the scrapes and cuts would heal. She would live, the doctors said—they just didn’t know when she would wake up.

A wave of cold engulfed him when he remembered the condition of her car. It was a miracle Emma was alive. When she woke up, maybe she’d be able to tell them what happened. The police had been by to say they’d found a witness, a young boy who’d seen a Jeep sideswipe Emma’s car, then saw her veer off the road. He claimed the Jeep’s driver had stopped and gotten out to look in Emma’s car, then almost immediately driven away. But why would someone want to hurt Emma?

“Please wake up, Emma,” he begged as he jolted up and paced beside her bed. “Why won’t you come back to me? Give me another chance.”

But she lay still and silent.

DRIP…DRIP…. BEEP…beep…beep.

Emma tried to move her limbs, but they felt too heavy. Her body refused to cooperate, even her eyelids. What had happened to her?

A dull low pain throbbed through her nerve endings. Even thinking tired her out. So easy to keep her eyes closed. So hard to open them. The bright light shone in a lone radiant beam that called to her, urging her to lose herself in the calm glow. To be swallowed up, away from the pain. To drift away, at peace…forever.

The constant dripping and beeping in the background faded in and out. The voices. Sometimes a woman’s. Sometimes the husky rumble of a man’s. Sometimes distressed. Sometimes low and soft. Rolling over the pain and wiping it away. Soothing her into contentment. Drawing her away from the intense pull of the light.

Somewhere in her subconscious, she realized she must be asleep. In a realm so far away no one could reach her. A place where she no longer had to be afraid.

Sometimes the husky voice begged her to stay. Begged her to fight, to come back to him. But she didn’t know how. Didn’t want to leave the haven where she’d settled.

A sharp grating sound drifted through her reverie, and she tried to turn her head toward the sound, tried to lift her fingers, but again heaviness weighted her down. She strained to open her eyes. Was it the woman’s voice this time? Or that calm lulling baritone?

Suddenly her peace was shattered by a shrill eerie voice, “You should have died. You have to die.”

Her pulse stirred, her reflexes jarred to life. Not again. No, not again. She tried to run toward the light, strained to hear the other voice, the soothing voice of the man who begged her not to leave. But pain stabbed through her limbs and she couldn’t find the other voice. It was dark. Black, suffocating emptiness tried to swallow her. She couldn’t breathe. She struggled to move, to twist her head from side to side, to free her arms from their leaden state. But something powerful closed around her neck, trapping her, pressing hard, cutting off her air. And the last sound she heard was another voice, gravelly and low, telling her she had to die.

PANIC BOLTED THROUGH GRANT the second he walked back into the room. “What the hell’s going on?” The heart monitor was going crazy. “Nurse, Doctor, hurry! Something’s wrong!” Grant squeezed Emma’s hand, his heart stopping when he felt her cold clammy skin. Emma’s oxygen had been removed, her IV stripped. Blood dotted her arm and the bedclothes, and her pillow lay on the floor.

Two nurses ran in and instantly checked her vitals.

“What happened here?” one nurse asked, looking at the torn mask and blood suspiciously. The other nurse quickly reattached the oxygen tubing, mumbling orders and statistics that set his teeth on edge.

He felt like shaking them. “Is she okay? Tell me something!”

“She’s all right,” the first nurse stated calmly. “Was anyone in here with her when this happened?” She indicated the torn mask.

Grant shook his head, his heart racing.

“We’ll get her IV reconnected in a minute,” the other nurse added.

The doctor hurried in. “Will you wait out in the hall, Mr. Wadsworth?”

“No, I’m not leaving her—”

“It’ll just be for a minute,” the first nurse said softly, coaxing him outside. “She’s all right now.”

He leaned against the wall and was surprised to see Emma’s former boss, Dan McGuire, and Martha Greer approaching.

“How’s Emma?” the housekeeper asked, her brows knitted in worry.

He shook his head, too emotionally wrought to speak.

“Did something happen?” Dan asked. “Has her condition changed, Grant?”

His breath rattled out. “The heart monitor went off. And…” The image of the bloody IV rolled through his head, nauseating him. “The doctor’s with her now.”

Martha and Dan waited silently with him while Grant willed his pulse to slow down. Each minute became an excruciating eternity.

Finally the white-haired physician opened the door. “She’s stable now,” he announced. “You can come in.” He gestured toward Grant. “Only family for now.”

“Of course.” Martha patted his arm, her cheeks ruddy. “You go on and be with her, Mr. Wadsworth. Tell her we hope she feels better soon.”

“Yeah, tell her to get better,” Dan added as they turned to leave.

“What happened?” Grant asked the doctor. His blood still roared in his ears as he made his way back to Emma’s bed. “Did Emma pull off her mask? Was she trying to wake up?”

“I don’t know,” the doctor said, studying her chart. “But her vitals are stable again.” He listened to her heart, then turned to Grant with a worried expression. “Mr. Wadsworth, it looks as if someone else removed your wife’s oxygen. I don’t think she could have torn the elastic or jerked out her IV herself. You should probably talk to that detective about it.”

“I will.” Grant dropped into the chair beside Emma and clasped her hand. Who would do such a horrible thing? The doctor left, and Grant gritted his teeth in misery. His emotions were on a roller-coaster ride from hell.

The doctor had to be wrong. Maybe Emma had been trying to come out of the coma.

But with Warner’s suspicions about Emma’s accident, Grant couldn’t take chances. He phoned the detective and reported the incident. Warner agreed to come immediately.

Grant hung up and squeezed Emma’s hand again. The minutes dragged by, but she still showed no response. “Please, Emma, please, wake up.” He closed his eyes, fighting the tears seeping from beneath his eyelids. Desperate, he tried to strike a bargain with God. If Emma woke up, if he had his life back the way it had been before the accident, he’d come home earlier, he’d be a better husband.

All the shoulds and shouldn’ts taunted him. He shouldn’t have let Emma go out that night alone. He should have gone to the drugstore, instead. And he shouldn’t have stayed at the bar with Priscilla after the business dinner, even if Priscilla had stressed the importance of discussing their client.

He drew a circle around the bandage on her cheekbone. “I need you, Emma. I love you so much. Please open your eyes.” Exhausted, he buried his head against her shoulder and gave in to his emotions, letting himself cry, feeling utterly hopeless.

Something brushed his temple. Grant’s breath caught. Afraid he’d imagined the slight movement, he hesitated before opening his eyes. There it was again. Feathery soft. So gentle.

He slowly raised his head, his heart thumping like a drumroll. Emma’s gorgeous brown eyes were staring directly at him. He muttered a thank-you to the heavens and pushed the call button for the nurse. “Hi,” he said, barely able to speak through his tight throat.

“Hello.” Emma’s strained voice sounded full of pain, as if she could hardly breathe, much less talk. She raised her slender hand to her forehead, then winced in pain.

Grant took her hand in his. “It’s about time you came back to us.” He gently kissed the tips of her fingers and forced himself to bank his emotions. “I’m so glad you’re okay, baby.”

Emma’s eyes were luminous with moisture, and a tear streamed down her battered cheek. When she finally spoke, her words rasped out, low and broken. “Where…am I?”

“You’re in the hospital, sweetheart. You had an accident, but you’re going to be all right.”

Emma pressed her fingers to the bandage on her head. She glanced at the IV, at their joined hands. Then she frowned, her eyes darkening in pain and confusion. Was she remembering the accident? She pulled her hand from his and simply stared at him, her pale cheeks alabaster in the harsh hospital lights. He didn’t understand her withdrawal or the mounting silence.

“Emma…”

Her lip quivered as she finally spoke, and fear laced her soft voice. “Who…who are you?”

Chapter Two

“Amnesia?” A wave of shock rolled through Emma as the doctor’s words penetrated the haze clouding her brain. She stared at the man who’d identified himself as her husband. The man with the deep soothing voice who had whispered to her in the darkness. His olive complexion had turned a pasty white, and his smile had disappeared the minute she’d asked his name.

“That’s right,” Dr. Turner said with a slight nod. “Retrograde amnesia.”

“But she knows her name.” Grant’s words echoed with disbelief.

“I even remember my address,” Emma said, trying to ignore the blinding pain in her temple. “It’s 3551 Summit Trail.”

The doctor adjusted his bifocals and glanced at her chart, his brow furrowed.

Grant shook his head. “No, Emma, that’s your parents’ address. We live on Kingsly.”

Dr. Turner scratched his balding head. “Amnesia’s not uncommon after a severe head injury. You have a pretty bad concussion, Mrs. Wadsworth.” He gave Grant a concerned look. “We can’t forget your wife was in a coma for four days. Recovery takes time.”

“You mean she will remember?” Grant asked, his eyes brightening.

Emma clutched the hospital sheet with one hand while draping the other across her throbbing head. She felt as if she’d just fallen into the twilight zone. Judging from the strained expression on Grant Wadsworth’s face, he wasn’t faring much better.

“I mean she could remember. It’s too early to tell,” the doctor answered quietly. “Her memory loss could be due to physical or emotional trauma.”

“Are you saying I might not ever remember any more than I do now?” She rubbed her temple and winced, her vision blurring as the room spun around her.

The doctor pursed his lips. “It’s possible. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Grant turned to her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll get through this. I’m just glad you’re awake.” Emma cringed at the haunted look on his face. Although his voice sounded reassuring, she could still hear his uncertainty.

He raked a hand through his black hair, causing a wavy lock to fall across his forehead. Something about the gesture seemed vaguely familiar, but Emma’s mind remained fuzzy. Dozens of questions crowded her thoughts.

Grant’s jaw tightened. “Do you remember our baby, sweetheart?”

Fear crawled up Emma’s spine, making her voice sound weak. “Our baby?”

“Yes…Carly. Here, I’ll show you.” The lines around Grant’s eyes softened. He reached for her, pausing when she drew back. “Your locket. The one I gave you on our wedding day. It has a picture of the three of us…” His tentative smile faded. “It’s gone.”

Emma pressed her hand to her throat, her fingers curling around the edge of the hospital gown.

“It could have been lost in the accident,” Dr. Turner 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, awkwardly trying to comfort her. “Honey, please give me a break. I’m not very good at this fatherhood thing yet.”

He patted her back and finally Carly’s cries quieted as she snuggled against him. “I’m going to take good care of you, you know that? And Mommy’s coming home today.” And maybe one day soon that detective will have some answers for me, he thought in frustration. He’d phoned Warner every day, but still no news. The detective assured him they were doing everything they could to find the person who’d hit Emma. But what if they never found him? And what if someone had tried to hurt Emma in the hospital?

Holding Carly so he could gaze into her face, Grant felt a surge of protectiveness that grew deeper every day. If anyone had told him three months ago he’d be talking baby talk and loving it, he would have said no way. Now he looked forward to time with his daughter, fleeting as it was. And he would get better at handling her, too.

After Carly’s birth, Emma had nagged him to spend more time at home. He’d tried to make her understand that he would, someday—when he’d earned a promotion and a raise, when he could afford to support them the way he wanted. He’d even hired a housekeeper to help Emma with the daily chores. But since the accident…

Carly whimpered, and he rubbed her back in slow circles the way he’d seen Emma do so many times. “When Mommy comes home, she’s going to be tired,” he said softly. “But we’ll take care of her.” He turned his thoughts to Emma’s recovery, desperately trying to block the anguish he felt every time he recalled Emma’s looking at him as if he was a total stranger. “We’ll get through this somehow,” he continued, talking quietly. Settling Carly in his arms, he soaked up her innocent features. Big brown doelike eyes, just like her mother’s. Tiny button nose. Perfect mouth. Carly cooed, swinging her chubby hands, and he traced his finger down her tummy, smiling gently.

“Mom was hurt pretty badly, Carly. We’re going to have to help her out.” He kissed Carly’s cheek, reveling in her trusting expression. “Right now she doesn’t remember us, sweetheart. But maybe when she sees you—”

“I’m still not sure you should bring Emma back here.”

Grant gritted his teeth as Kate stepped into the room. With Kate’s three inches of extra height, much rounder body and brown hair, instead of blond, no one would ever guess she and Emma were sisters. Apparently the silent truce he and Kate had shared before Emma had awakened had dissolved. He tried to like Kate, but she could be bossy and had a cynical attitude about life. She’d always insinuated he wasn’t good enough for Emma.

“I think it’s for the best,” Grant said quietly.

“For whom?” Kate arched an eyebrow. “You or Emma?”

He frowned. “She’s my wife, dammit.” Carly squirmed and started to fuss, and he lowered his voice, rocking her gently. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

“Have the police found out who hit her?” Kate asked.

“No.” Frustration filled Grant’s voice. “But I hope they find the creep and lock him up for a long time.”

Kate stared at him for a full minute before speaking again. “Emma could come to my house for a while,” she suggested. “At least she’d be comfortable there, familiar with things.”

He shot Kate a warning look. “Look, we’ve discussed this before. Maybe if we bring her home, it’ll trigger her memory.” He could hope, couldn’t he?

Kate’s brows knit with worry. “What exactly did the doctor say?”

“You want all the medical mumbo jumbo?”

“No, just the truth.”

Grant nodded, the haunting diagnosis burned into his brain. “He said memory loss isn’t uncommon after a head injury. He isn’t sure if the amnesia is a result of physical trauma or emotional trauma. The CAT scan showed she still had some swelling around the part of her brain associated with memory.”

“When will he know?” Kate asked.

“If it’s physiological, it might be a few weeks. They’ll run more tests, do another CAT scan after the swelling goes down.”

“And if it’s emotional?”

Grant played with the tiny buttons on Carly’s sleeper, his chest tightening. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if Emma’s memory didn’t return. “It might be months. Or she might never regain her memory.”

Kate sighed. “Did he suggest therapy? Hypnosis?”

“No. Only to be patient, give Emma time. And make sure she rests.” He exhaled shakily. “No stress, either.”

“She’ll need help with the baby.” Kate picked up one of Carly’s stuffed bunnies, tugged on a floppy ear, then pressed it to her chest in a way that made her seem oddly young and vulnerable.

“I know she’ll need help.” Grant frowned. “I plan on taking care of her. And Martha comes twice a week. I may have her come every day.”

“What about your business trip to Paris?” Kate asked. “I know you postponed it, but have you rescheduled?”

“I’m not going,” Grant said, his temper flaring. “I’m going to work at home.”

“Well, that’s a surprise.” Kate folded her arms across her chest.

Grant stopped the motion of the rocking chair and glared at Kate. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve been with Emma and Carly every minute I could over the last few days.”

Kate shrugged. “I know. But you usually don’t let anything keep you from work.”

Carly fidgeted, one socked foot slipping out from the blanket. He tucked her foot back in and struggled to control the tone of his voice. “You really think I’d leave the country with Emma in the condition she’s in? What kind of a husband do you think I am?”

A long silence stretched between them, the tension almost palpable. Kate’s refusal to answer piqued him even more.

“Look, Kate, you’re not being fair. I know you haven’t always approved—”

“It’s not that,” Kate said angrily. “It’s just that you’ve been leaving her alone a lot lately and I figured—”

“You figured I’d bring her home from the hospital and run off to Paris to work?” Grant stood and paced the floor with Carly, shocked at Kate’s low opinion of him. “Is it really me, Kate, or do you hate all men?”

Kate winced, ignoring his comment. “Emma has a lot of pride and she’s independent, but I can sense she’s been lonely lately.”

“Emma told you that?”

“No, but I could tell from talking to her.” Kate’s expression softened. “It’s a big adjustment going from working full-time to staying home with a baby.”

Grant bit back a retort. How would Kate know? She spent all her time shopping for her beloved antiques and going to the beauty parlor. “Emma wanted to stay home with Carly.”

“I know,” Kate said on a long sigh. “But that doesn’t mean staying home hasn’t been an adjustment. Emma was used to being with people all day, taking care of customers, running a business. She enjoyed her job.”

“You think she didn’t enjoy being home with Carly?”

“No.” Kate rolled her eyes. “But it’s been a change for her.”

Recent conversations with Emma raced through his mind, especially the one the afternoon before her accident. I wanted us to have a special dinner tonight, she’d said. But what had he done? He’d gone to dinner with a client, then stayed for drinks to discuss business with Priscilla. Two days before that, Emma had asked him to meet her and Carly for lunch. Once again he’d been too busy.

But he’d been in meetings, not just dallying around. Emma knew that. She knew he’d been working his butt off to make a good life for both of them. For Carly, too.

“Grant—” Kate’s voice broke into his disturbing thoughts “—I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

He saw concern written on her usually smug face. “You think it was my fault, don’t you? You think she was unhappy with me and she doesn’t remember me because she doesn’t want to.” The idea shook him to the core.

“No,” Kate said hurriedly, “that’s not what I meant, Grant.” She walked toward him, holding out her arms for the baby. “The accident caused the amnesia. You heard what the doctor said.”

Grant barely registered her protests. “But she remembers you. And her parents. She probably even remembers her high-school boyfriends.” He hated the desperation in his voice. “But she can’t remember me,” he finished, feeling defeated.

“Give her time.” Kate placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’ll put Carly down for a nap while you bring Emma home.” She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “Maybe you’re right, Grant. Emma loves you. Coming home is probably exactly what she needs.”

Grant kissed Carly on the forehead and nodded, his body wound like a tightly coiled spring. Emma loves me. At least, she used to; now she didn’t even know him. “I hope so,” he said. Once he’d gotten over the shock of the amnesia, he’d realized how frightening the ordeal must be for Emma. She’d not only awakened injured, but she’d lost part of her life.

A fresh stab of pain hit him. Of course, if she didn’t remember their marriage, he was going to lose a part of his life. The best part.

Chapter Three

Emma took a deep breath and glanced at Grant, hoping to gain strength from his steady calmness, but tension radiated from every pore of his body. Anxiety crawled along her own nerves. She would soon be home, a place she couldn’t even remember.

He’d combed his hair away from his forehead, accentuating the hard lines of his angular face. Thick dark eyebrows arched over his tormented blue eyes, and the white shirt he wore contrasted sharply with his olive skin. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw and upper lip, and his sideburns had been clipped high above his ears. She wondered if he had to shave twice a day. Something I should know, as his wife.

He glanced over and caught her staring. For a moment their gazes locked. Then the corner of his mouth lifted into a sexy smile and her breath caught as she realized how devastatingly handsome he looked when he lost that tortured grim expression.

He’d been upset when he’d arrived to pick her up, and she’d sensed there was something he wasn’t telling her. Had the police discovered what had caused her wreck? “Grant, did you talk to the police?”

Grant’s expression became guarded and he kept his gaze on the highway. “I talked to Detective Warner, but he said he hasn’t found anything yet.”

“I see.” So that wasn’t the problem.

She turned to gaze out the side window, realizing he must be upset about bringing her home. Her stomach drew itself into a tight knot of anxiety. For the past two days he’d been telling her about herself. She dug her fingernails into her palms, stifling the urge to scream in frustration. She’d lost the past four years of her life and had no idea how to get them back.

According to Grant, she’d married him three years ago and they lived in a small Victorian-style house in the middle of a quaint neighborhood in Raleigh, North Carolina. But she couldn’t remember any of it. Not even her wedding day or giving birth—possibly the two most important events in a woman’s life.

Retrograde amnesia—the words reverberated over and over in her brain, grating on her already frayed nerves like an out-of-tune piano. Only time would tell if her memory would return. And if it didn’t…

“We’re almost home,” Grant said in the husky voice that made warmth rush through her. His blue eyes bore into hers, searching, probing, seeking something she might never give. She held his gaze for a brief moment before reality set in. He knew her intimately, but he could have been a stranger on the street to her. She desperately tried to remember some small detail of their life together, some emotion for the handsome stranger, but her mind remained an empty black hole.

“So you’re an architect?” she finally said in an attempt to fill the awkward silence.

“Yes. I’ve been with this company for three years.”

“Did you design our house?”

His jaw tightened slightly, then he seemed to force it to relax. “No. It was a resale. It actually needed some fixing up, but we…that is, I planned to do it myself.”

“Oh.” Emma didn’t know why that surprised her. He obviously knew about building houses—probably had redone everything to his own specifications. “I’m sure it’s lovely,” she said.

Grant rolled his shoulders and tension tightened his shoulders, evident in his rigid posture. “It’s nice. But I still haven’t gotten around to all those projects yet.” He gave her a lopsided smile, an almost apologetic one, she noted, then turned his attention to the road.

Glancing at him once again, she noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his big hands wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. What kind of a nightmare had they both fallen into? And what about their marriage—did they love each other?

Right now he looked as miserable as she felt. He’d tried to hide it; he’d told her not to worry, that he knew her memory would return once they arrived home. But she saw the fear lurking in his troubled eyes.

She was petrified. What if her memory never returned? Could she stay married to a stranger? Did he want to remain married to her?

“Our cleaning lady came by and straightened up,” Grant said, breaking the strained silence. “Her name is Martha. You met her at the jewelry store where you used to work.”

“I see,” Emma said, hating the formality in her tone.

“And Kate stayed with Carly this morning.”

Kate. Emma clung to her sister’s name like a lifeline. At least with Kate around, she wouldn’t have to face this ordeal alone. Perhaps she could live with Kate for a while. She’d mentioned it to Grant, but had felt his suppressed fury at the idea. Then he’d masked his anger and the doctor had reassured her Grant had a point. Going home might trigger bits and pieces of her memory.

Emma studied her surroundings while Grant steered the Acura down a street lined with ancient magnolias and azaleas. Neat manicured lawns and an array of pastel-colored wooden homes filled the block. Neighbors were out shoveling off the small patches of murky ice and snow from a recent snowstorm, and the trees looked bare and desolate without their leaves. An older woman wearing a blue jogging suit walked along the sidewalk, and two small children raced bikes up and down the street.

“Oh, this is beautiful. I love those weeping willows,” Emma said, sitting up to look out the window.

Grant smiled and visibly relaxed. “That’s the same thing you said the first time we drove down this street.”

A ray of hope darted through Emma. Maybe the minute she saw her home, her past would all come rushing back.

“We looked at that ranch,” Grant said, pointing to a redbrick house with green shutters. “But the wallpaper in the kitchen was hideous. Black with these huge orange flowers.”

“That sounds awful.” Her smile faded, bitterness invading. She couldn’t recall how she’d decorated her own kitchen. She liked yellow and rose and green—had she used those colors?

Grant seemed to notice her sudden change of mood, because he reached for her hand and held it. She studied his guarded features and wondered if they were close, if they shared a special bond, the sort she’d always dreamed of sharing with someone. He smelled wonderful, all musky but fresh as if he’d recently showered and put on aftershave. His hand felt warm and big enveloping hers, and Emma took comfort in his presence. He seemed like a kind man. After all, she wouldn’t have married him if he hadn’t been, would she?

“The Porters live in that house,” Grant said, pointing out a gray two-story with a fenced-in yard. “His wife is expecting any day now.”

“That’s nice,” Emma said. “Do we know them very well? Are we friends?”

Grant sighed. “Not really. You wanted to invite them for dinner last week.”

“But we didn’t?”

“No, I had to work late.”

Emma nodded, wondering at his frown. At least she hadn’t married a bum. Grant sounded like an ambitious man.

“How did we meet? Through your job somehow?”

He shook his head. “No, we met in college. Kate attended UNC, where I went, and you came up to visit her one weekend. We met at a party after a football game.”

“Really? Did we date right away?”

A smile curved Grant’s mouth. “You really have forgotten. Sweetheart, you chased me shamelessly.”

“What?” Emma’s eyes widened. “I…I did?”

Grant laughed softly, a husky sound that warmed her and helped drain some of the tension from her knotted muscles. “You know, perhaps there is an upside to this,” he said in a mischievous voice. “You’ve forgotten all the foolish things I did to win you. I could tell you that you fawned all over me, and you wouldn’t know any differently.”

Emma shivered at the sexiness radiating from his teasing tone. “I may not remember, but I do know I didn’t fawn all over you. I wouldn’t fawn all over anyone.”

Grant’s eyes twinkled as he squeezed her hand. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Emma smiled and studied his long tanned fingers, her own hands clammy with perspiration. He seemed to sense her confusion and released her hand. “So tell me the truth—did I really chase you?”

Grant’s tone turned serious again. “Hardly, sweetheart. It was the other way around. And I’d rather not remember those days.”

This time Emma laughed. And she couldn’t help the faint stirring of her pulse, the tingle that raced through her body at the humility she saw in his eyes. The passion lurking in the dark blue depths excited and frightened her at the same time.

When he’d comforted her in the hospital, a subtle attraction had strummed through her. She’d been drawn to him, relieved he’d stayed with her. His deep husky voice had called to her when she was in that coma, a heady baritone that had pleaded with her to wake up, not to leave him. He’d saved her life. Now that she knew the voice belonged to her husband, she wanted to remember him. But his face, his smile, his voice—it felt as if she was meeting him for the very first time.

They passed a group of teenagers lounging by a car, the radio blasting. She clung to it as a safe topic. “It looks like they’re having fun.”

“The little redhead, Darlene, offered to baby-sit sometime.”

Questions once again swirled through Emma’s mind. She didn’t recognize these people, but they would know her. And what about her baby? Could she be a good mother to a child she didn’t remember? “Has she ever sat for us?”

Grant’s silence lingered a fraction too long for comfort, and Emma raised an eyebrow. “Grant, did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he finally said, his voice clipped. “We haven’t gotten out much since Carly was born.”

“I guess that’s pretty normal,” Emma said, although at the moment she had no idea what constituted normal.

Finally Grant slowed in front of a blue Victorian house with white-lattice trim. “That has to be our house. I can’t believe it. I used to dream about a house like this when I was little.”

Grant smiled hopefully and veered the car into the driveway. A neatly weeded flower bed bordered the front of the house. She could easily imagine it with tulips and petunias in the spring. Three ferns hung from the front stoop, and clipped monkey grass formed a border along the sidewalk to the wraparound porch. Blue jays fluttered down and nibbled at birdseed from a tall stone bird feeder in the center of the yard.

“It’s beautiful. I can’t wait to see the inside.”

“It’s not all fixed up yet,” Grant said, sounding apologetic again.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Grant.”

“We still have some of the furniture we had when we were first married.” Grant shrugged. “We planned to buy a new bedroom suite, but, well…”

Bedroom furniture? Emma paused, gripping the door handle, her pulse accelerating.

Grant rambled on as if he recognized the awkward moment and wanted to smooth it over. Instead, he made it worse. “I mean there’s plenty of room, but the furniture’s not new.”

“It’s okay, Grant.” Emma took pity on him. Sensing his anxiety, she relaxed, realizing there would be lots of uncomfortable moments ahead of them. She should have asked about the sleeping arrangements before she agreed to move home with him. Surely he didn’t expect her to sleep with him.

“We’ll redo it sometime,” Grant said. “Maybe I’ll start a couple of projects right away.”

Emma pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t need everything perfect, Grant.” Just my memory back would do.

And a separate bedroom for now.

Grant’s silent gaze almost unnerved her.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“You told me that the day we moved in, too.” A smile crinkled his face, and the cleft in his chin became more pronounced as his mouth widened. He had beautiful teeth, white and straight.

She returned his smile, searching deep inside for courage. “Well, let me go take a look.” Her strained muscles protested, and she winced as she tried to open the car door. The smallest movement hurt her sore ribs, and getting out with her injured leg seemed impossible. The reminders of her accident made her touch her face in a self-conscious gesture. She felt like a battered old woman; she must look horrible.

Grant’s smile disappeared, and an emotion akin to guilt darkened his eyes. “Wait, Emma. Take it easy and I’ll help you.”

Emma swallowed. Grant jerked his gaze away from her and opened the door, then stood silently by the car for a moment, his posture rigid as if bracing himself for her return home. Was he glad to have her here? Or did he feel as awkward as she did?

He rounded the car, opened her car door and in one fluid but gentle motion swept her up into his strong arms. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Emma said softly. Her heart fluttered as she awkwardly wrapped her arm around Grant’s neck. His breath brushed her cheek. His hard chest pressed against her breast. His mouth was so close to hers she could feel the whisper of his breath. He had full lips, and for a second she wondered what it would be like if he kissed her.

“I feel the way I did when I carried you over the threshold,” Grant said, moving toward the front door.

Emma strained for the memory to return, but nothing surfaced. Instead, her head pounded in response.

“Relax,” Grant said as if he’d read her mind. “Don’t try to force it—doctor’s orders.”

Emma feigned a smile and tried to prepare herself mentally to see her home. And to meet her baby. Her stomach fluttered again when the door swung open.

Her sister, Kate, stood there smiling, concern shadowing her face. “Hi, sis.” She motioned toward the couch. “I tried to clear the laundry off the sofa, but Carly can really go through the clothes. The bed’s ready, if you need to rest.”

The thought of bed immediately sent Emma’s stomach into another spasm. But when she gazed into the homey room, she relaxed somewhat, imagining herself choosing the comfortable furnishings. Why had Grant sounded apologetic? The furniture might not be new, but it felt cozy. She immediately noticed a framed photo on the mantel—a picture of Grant, their baby and herself. Her throat closed when she saw the simple wicker bassinet sitting beside the couch. A thick pink baby comforter decorated with little white hearts lay draped over the edge, and a teddy bear sat in the middle, its big button eyes pulling at her heartstrings.

“What do you want to do, Emma?” Grant asked, stopping inside the wide-planked foyer. “I can take you upstairs—”

“No.”

“You want to peek at Carly? She’s taking a nap. Or you could see the rest of the house,” Kate suggested, wringing her hands. Emma tried to ignore the way her sister rattled on like a nervous Nellie, adding to the already tense and awkward homecoming. Emma didn’t need spectators to give her pitying looks or watch her reactions to the house. She wanted to explore it alone.

“I’d like to sit in here for a minute.” Emma let her gaze sweep the room, hoping memories would flood her mind. Again nothing happened.

“How about the sofa?” Grant asked.

“Great. I’ve been in bed too long.” Grant eased her down and helped her get comfortable. Kate rushed to get a pillow and propped her foot on top of the stool.

“Are you all right?” Grant asked. “Can I get you anything?”

“I made some tea,” Kate said. “That spicy kind you like. Or how about coffee? Or I could make hot chocolate.”

Irritation filled Emma. “Look, I’m not going to break, so you don’t have to hover,” she said, picking up a small stuffed lamb and hugging it to her chest as if the child’s toy could dissipate her worries.

Grant simply stared at her, his expression more troubled than ever.

Kate shifted uneasily and tugged at the hem of her oversize gray sweatshirt. “I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Emma heaved a sigh. “Just give me a minute.” She searched the room for something familiar. A comfortable-looking armchair that needed recovering sat in one corner. A pine table held a television and CD player. The rose-colored carpet looked fairly new, and an antique white wicker rocker faced the outside window. Solid rose-colored balloon shades allowed the sunlight to filter in while offering privacy.

“You made those,” Kate said.

Emma’s eyes widened. “When did I learn how to sew?”

Kate laughed. “I couldn’t believe it myself. You failed home ec in high school. But when you bought the house, you suddenly turned domestic.”

“You signed up for classes at the Decorating Center in town,” Grant added.

“I wonder what else I can do,” Emma mumbled, her palms sweating as she strained to remember.

Grant gave her an encouraging look. “Don’t press it, Emma. We have lots of time to talk about the past.”

Kate folded several receiving blankets. “Well, one thing you never learned to enjoy doing was laundry. But with Carly around, there isn’t much choice.”

Emma laughed and Grant smiled at her, easing the tension. Then he said, “Do you want me to wake Carly and bring her to you?”

“No. Let her sleep. I hate to disturb her.” Emma twisted her hands together, wondering if that was a memory surfacing or simply a coping mechanism.

Disappointment momentarily crossed Grant’s face as he gestured around the room. “Well?”

Tension crackled between them. Emma met his gaze, unable to avoid the pained hope in his eyes. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t remember…anything.” As her last word broke, a baby began to cry and the sound tugged at something deep within her.

“It’s Carly, our daughter,” Grant said, his jaw tight.

Emma bit down on her bottom lip.

“She’s not very patient when she first wakes up. Especially if she’s hungry.”

“I’ll go get her,” Kate said, hurrying from the room.

Grant leaned against the brick fireplace, studying his polished shoes. He looked handsome in his pleated khaki trousers and navy polo shirt. Emma suddenly wished he’d brought her something to wear home besides this colorless sweat suit. Surely she had some nicer outfits. Or did she usually wear such frumpy attire?

The baby had stopped crying, and she could hear Kate talking to her softly. Emma glanced at Grant for some clue as to his thoughts. Worry lines creased his face and anguish glittered in his eyes. The enormity of the situation suddenly caved in around her, and all the emotions she’d been trying so hard to suppress welled up, collecting in her chest. Salty tears filled her eyes as she listened to Carly’s gurgles. “Was…was I a good mother?” She almost choked on the last word, and she buried her face in her hands, unable to look at Grant.

He knelt in front of her, pulling her fingers away from her face, taking her cheeks in his hands, stroking her tenderly. “Emma, you were…are a wonderful mother. The best. You may not remember everything, but don’t ever doubt that.”

Emma leaned against Grant, absorbing the strength in his powerful body as he curved his arm around her trembling shoulders. “This is so hard,” she whispered. “What kind of mother can I be now, when I don’t remember my own baby? I’ve forgotten if she even has a favorite lullaby.”

“I know this is tough,” he said in a rough voice. “But you are a wonderful mother, and when you hold Carly, all those feelings will come back.” He gently kissed her temple.

Kate brought the baby in, wrapped in a fluffy yellow blanket. Emma saw two tiny fists waving in the air. She felt a painful tug on her heart. “She’s so tiny.”

“You cried the first time you saw her, too,” Grant said quietly, brushing her damp cheeks with his fingers.

Emma swallowed, desperately trying to control her raging emotions.

Grant took Carly from Kate, cradling her in his arms. “How’s our little doll?” Carly waved her hand and smacked Grant’s lower lip with her chubby fist.

Emma’s clammy hands tightened around the bear. This was her baby. Her little girl. She couldn’t let Carly suffer because of her memory loss.

“You want to see Mommy?” Grant asked. Carly cooed. “Yes, I know you’ve missed her. But she’s home now.”

“I’ll heat dinner,” Kate said, rushing from the room.

Grant turned to Emma and scooted back against the couch, awkwardly situating Carly in his arms. Finally he angled the baby so Emma could see her face.

Carly’s little feet pedaled in the air. Emma’s heart swelled. Carly had a small round face with big brown eyes, incredibly long lashes and dimples that appeared as she smiled. Her fair coloring and golden hair resembled Emma’s own, but the rest of Carly’s face reminded her of Grant. She was adorable.

“Hi there, Carly,” Emma said, instinctively reaching for her.

“Are you sure you’re up to holding her?” Grant asked. “The doctor said you shouldn’t lift anything for a few more days.”

“I’m still sore, but maybe if you helped me…” She met Grant’s gaze. “She’s so precious. I really want to hold her.”

For a brief second she thought moisture glistened in Grant’s eyes, but he swallowed, then nodded and lowered Carly into her arms, keeping his hand underneath Carly’s body to support her weight.

“She looks like you.” Emma pulled the blanket away and studied Carly’s fingers. “Did you dress her?”

“I did this morning. But Kate must have changed her into this sleeper. She goes through a million clothes a day.”

Emma chuckled and ran her finger over the soft pink terry-cloth fabric, smiling at the little white bunnies on the front.

“She has your button nose.” Grant pressed his finger on the top of Carly’s nose. “And your long fingers. Maybe she’ll play the piano like you.”

Emma stroked Carly’s hand and smiled, feeling the painful tug on her heart again when Carly wrapped her fingers around her own. “Does she like it when I play?”

“She loves it. Especially ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.’ I swear she gurgles the minute you start playing.” He stroked her hand tenderly. “And her favorite lullaby is ‘Hush Little Baby.’”

Emma smiled, her vision blurring as she hummed the song. Grant tucked his hand over hers and she stared at their fingers, splayed over Carly’s small ones. Grant gently brushed his other hand along Emma’s cheek, his eyes filled with emotion. Emma tensed, unsure about the intimacy of their connected hands and the hunger in his dark gaze.

“Do you want dinner in here?” Kate asked, interrupting the moment.

“Sure.” Suddenly nervous about being alone with Grant, Emma hoped Kate would stay in the room. “Thanks, sis.”

Grant threaded his fingers through his hair again and shot Kate an agitated look. “I’m not very hungry. I’ll wait till later.”

“Okay, Emma and I can eat together and talk,” Kate said. “Just like old times.”

Her college days flashed into Emma’s head. She smiled at Kate again, thinking of the fun they’d had. “Are you going to tell me about all your old dates?”

Kate laughed. “You wish.”

The doorbell rang and Grant got up to answer it. Seconds later, he returned, a tall blond man by his side. “You remember Detective Warner from the hospital, Emma?”

“Yes.” Emma’s fingers tightened around Carly as she stared at his uniform.

“Sorry to interrupt your homecoming, ma’am.” Emma shrugged, and the young detective shifted on one booted foot, refusing a seat when Grant motioned to the chair. Carly whimpered, prompting Kate to ease her from Emma and thrust a bottle into her mouth.

“Did you find the car that hit Emma?” Grant asked.

“Not yet,” the detective replied in a thick New York accent. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Grant angled his head toward the kitchen. “Maybe we’d better talk alone.”

Emma’s heart pounded as the officer glanced back and forth between her and Grant. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Grant stared at the policeman, then cleared his throat and looked at Emma. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart.”

Emma’s fingers curled into fists in her lap. “Look, Grant, Detective, I’m the one who had the wreck. If you’ve learned something about it, I want to know.”

“Emma, don’t get upset.” Kate patted her shoulder. “The doctor said it’s not good for you.”

“Stop it.” Emma frowned at Kate. “I was injured, but I have a right to know what’s happening. This is my life we’re talking about here.”

The silence in the room seemed deafening. “Grant, please be honest with me. What’s going on?”

Grant exhaled, his eyes troubled. “There was a witness to the wreck. A young boy.” He paused, tunneling his hair with his fingers before he met her gaze. “He said somebody ran you off the road.”

Emma’s heartbeat picked up.

“He said it looked intentional, Mrs. Wadsworth,” the detective added.

“But…why would someone intentionally hurt me?” Emma asked, the strain pounding at her temples.

Warner rolled onto the balls of his feet. “I was hoping you folks might be able to tell me that.”

“I don’t understand,” Kate said. “I thought some nut hit her, then freaked and ran.”

Warner made a noncommittal sound. “The witness said he thought the person might have been drunk and lost control the first time, but then he backed off, sped up and rammed her car again and again until she went off the road.”

Emma realized by the look on Grant’s pale face that he’d known about the witness all along. Only, he hadn’t shared the information with her. “Why didn’t you tell me, Grant?”

“Because you’ve had enough to deal with lately, sweetheart. I didn’t want to upset you any more,” Grant said, his voice apologetic.

Carly began to fuss. “I’ll go change her diaper,” Kate offered, slipping from the room.

“And the incident at the hospital, it draws more suspicions,” Warner added.

“What are you talking about?” Emma asked.

Grant explained about the oxygen mask and IV.

“So I was right. Someone was in my room.”

“It’s possible. With all the hospital staff around, we couldn’t pinpoint any prints.” Warner paused. “Did anyone visit Mrs. Wadsworth at the hospital besides you, Mr. Wadsworth?”

“Kate, Emma’s sister.” Grant frowned. “Her former boss and our housekeeper stopped by, but they didn’t go into Emma’s room. Only family members were allowed to visit.”

“See any strangers hanging around her room?”

“No,” Grant said. “Of course, other patients had visitors. You don’t think one of them could have snuck into Emma’s room, do you?”

“It’s too early to tell.” Warner shrugged. “Have you remembered anything about that night, Mrs. Wadsworth?”

“No, nothing.” Emma pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“You and your wife need to make a list of any enemies you might have,” Warner said.

“Emma doesn’t have any enemies,” Grant declared. “She’s a housewife and mother, for God’s sake.”

“It may seem like she doesn’t have enemies,” the detective said, raising a brow, “But someone did try to hurt her. And I have to investigate.”

Emma felt the air whoosh from her lungs.

Warner’s gaze swung to her. “That voice you said you heard in the hospital—was it a man or woman’s?”

Emma massaged her temple, trying to think. “I…I don’t know. I was so tired and disoriented. But I remember feeling as if I was being suffocated.”

“You didn’t receive any threats or notice anyone following you before the accident?” the detective asked.

“I don’t know,” Emma said quietly.

“She didn’t mention anything to me,” Grant added with a worried frown.

“All right. But make that list for me,” Warner snapped his notepad shut. “And, ma’am, if you do remember anything about that night or the voice you heard, let me know. Even the smallest detail could help. Think about work, your friends, anyone you’ve angered in the past, any confrontations you’ve had, that sort of thing. Make a list of all your friends, co-workers, business acquaintances—”

“But how can I do that when I don’t remember the last few years of my life?”

“Stay calm, Mrs. Wadsworth,” the detective said gently. “If you can tell me where you worked, I’ll start there. Your husband can probably fill in the rest.”

“She managed a small jewelry store named Sentio’s, but she hasn’t worked since Carly was born,” Grant interjected. “And like I said, Emma doesn’t have any enemies.”

“Hmm. Sentio’s. That’s a nice, upscale place.”

“Emma practically ran the place by herself,” Grant added. “You really think someone would try to hurt her because they weren’t happy with a piece of jewelry she sold them?”

Warner scoffed. “Sounds a little farfetched. What about the owner?”

“Dan McGuire travels a lot, goes on buying trips around the world. But Emma’s known him since high school.” Grant noticed Emma give a start when he said Dan’s name.

“I’ve heard of him,” the detective said with a scowl. “Anyway, like I said, call me if you remember anything else, Mrs. Wadsworth.”

“I will,” Emma said quietly.

“And you’ll let us know what you find out?” Grant asked.

“Of course,” Warner said. “And send me that list ASAP.”

Grant nodded, then showed the officer to the door.

THE TENSION GREW THICK as Emma listened to the heated whispers between Grant and the detective at the door. Kate lay Carly in the small bassinet beside the couch and put her arm around Emma. “It’s going to be all right, sis. They’ll find the creep who did this.”

Grant appeared in the doorway holding a manila envelope. “What’s that?” Emma asked.

“Some of your personal things the police found in the car.”

The paper rattled as Grant pulled out a small wallet-size purse. Dry-cleaning receipts. A tube of lipstick. “I can’t believe it,” he said, sounding irritated. “I was hoping they’d find your locket.”

Kate picked up the lipstick. “That’s odd. I’ve never seen you wear red before, Emma.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, instinctively touching her lips. “I usually wear plum shades. Or at least I used to.”

“You still do,” Kate said, giving Grant an accusatory glare. “Do you know who this lipstick belongs to?”

Grant shook his head. “How would I know? I don’t buy lipstick or use it.”

“Perhaps one of your business associates wears red,” Kate said in a snide voice.

“I told you I don’t know whose it is,” Grant said. “Besides, it was in Emma’s car. I haven’t driven the Honda in weeks.”

“You two, please don’t argue.” Emma massaged her head again, wondering about Kate’s suggestion, but the air stilled, hot and stale, and the room spun.

Grant and Kate both quieted as Grant hurried to help her sit down. “I’m sorry, Emma,” Grant said immediately. “I don’t know what got into us.”

“I guess we’re a little on edge,” Kate added hastily.

Emma sighed, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s okay. This is hard for all of us. Could we just relax, please? I’m really tired.”

“Sure. I’ll fix you some tea with dinner,” Kate offered.

Grant pulled his keys from his pockets, the metal jangling. “Since you’re here now, Kate, I need to go to the office for a while. I have to pick up some work to bring home. I won’t be gone long.”

“Sure.” Kate patted Emma’s shoulder. “I won’t leave Emma.”

“I’m not leaving her,” Grant said through clenched teeth. “But I’ve fallen behind at work the past few days. I want to bring some files home to finish while I help with Carly.”

“Stay as long as you like,” Kate said, patting Emma’s back. “Emma and I are going to reminisce about old times, anyway.”

“I’ll be back soon.” He gently brushed the side of Emma’s face with his fingertips. His thumb stroked the sensitive skin at the base of her throat, and for the longest moment he looked down at her, caressing her with his eyes. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

Emma nodded, her throat clogged with emotion. “I’m tired. I think I’ll rest a bit.”

Grant wove a strand of her hair around one finger. She thought he was going to say something else, but instead he leaned over and dropped a kiss on her temple, then kissed Carly on the cheek. “I’ll be back in a little while, girls.”

Kate cleared her throat. “I’ll make up the guest room for you, Grant.”

Grant faced Kate, anger evident in his glittering blue eyes. “Maybe you should go home when I get back, Kate. I think I can take care of my wife.”

“I told you I’m not leaving.”

“But—”

“I want her to stay,” Emma said, cutting off Grant’s next words.

If possible, Grant’s rigid posture stiffened even more. He gave her a hard, almost hurt look, then left without saying another word. Whereupon Kate mumbled something about not trusting men, and Emma wondered if she was talking about Grant.

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