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The Husband She Couldn't Forget
Carmen Green
An unforgettable man…Melanie wasn’t one to wallow in heartbreak. So when her husband served her with divorce papers, she took a new job far away. And met a new man – her therapy client Rolland. After a car accident, Rolland required extensive reconstructive surgery and it had left him with no memory.It was up to Melanie to rebuild this brave, beautiful man’s mind. And soon Rolland was rebuilding her heart. She knew falling for a client was forbidden. Yet Rolland was the second chance she was looking for – in ways that would shock her to her very soul…
Kneeling beside him, she put her hand on his forehead and saw the mark on her finger from the absent ring. The reminders of her past life.
Rolland held her until she was still. “Besides liking that you’re blocking the sun, I would really like to kiss you.”
His lips greeted hers in a kiss that defined perfection in its simplicity. There was a knowing about the way his mouth moved over hers, an assuredness in how his head tilted, and hers dropped to the side and back to accept his mouth and tongue, that made her know this wouldn’t be the last time. That thought brought reality screeching back.
She planted both her hands against his chest and moved herself away.
“Melanie?”
“Wait. I need a minute.” All of her senses began to work again and she heard birds caw. Squirrels hustled about their business and a deer ran past heading east.
Rolland got closer and though she didn’t want to, she had to stop him.
About the Author
CARMEN GREEN was born in Buffalo, NY, and had plans to study law before becoming a published author. While raising her three children, she wrote her first book on legal pads and transcribed it onto a computer on weekends before selling it in 1993. Since that time she has sold more than thirty novels and novellas, and is proud that one of her books was made into a TV movie in 2001, Commitments, in which she had a cameo role.
In addition to writing full-time, Carmen is now a mum of four, and lives in the Southeast of America. You can contact Carmen at www.carmengreen.blogspot.com or carmengreen1201@yahoo.com.
Dear Reader,
This is my inaugural book for Mills & Boon® Cherish, so I thought I should introduce myself. I am Carmen Green and I’ve been a writer since the mid-nineties. I love writing funny, offbeat novels, but I have a serious side too, so you’ll never really know what to expect. I love learning, flowers, family, friends and food. I never go on loops, but I don’t mind talking to people, doing interviews or appearing at conferences. I love travelling and experiencing new things. I have great friends in this business and those that know me well know that I’m funny, straightforward and honest.
This book is quite special to me. Traumatic Brain Injury is a very serious condition, and for those that suffer from this condition and their families it is often life-altering. My prayers and thoughts go out to all of those who continue the battle to improve their lives and the lives of those affected by TBI. I try to reply to all of my readers. My e-mail address is carmengreen1201@gmail.com, and my website is www.authorcarmengreen.com.
I look forward to hearing from all of you.
Peace and blessings,
Carmen Green
The Husband
She Couldn’t
Forget
Carmen Green
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to the US Military, and to Lori Bryant Woolridge and Nina Foxx, two of the women along with myself who founded the Femme Fantastik Tour. It’s been a humbling experience travelling to bases and speaking to the soldiers and their families. I became interested in the subject of Traumatic Brain Injury because of an injury to a soldier, and I have a healthy respect for all that they and their families must endure on the path to recovery. I’m very proud of our soldiers, and I hope to see you all again soon.
Prologue
Melanie stood on the top step of her Atlanta, Georgia, home and wondered how any woman in her right mind could be wearing stockings in this kind of June heat. The tall black woman who’d just rung her doorbell smelled faintly of cigarettes and looked as if she needed one bad.
An odd expression crossed her face, and Melanie looked at her own left hand and jerked it behind her back, embarrassed. She was still holding the Not Pregnant test stick from the pregnancy test she’d just taken, and her flush of disappointment sizzled into nothingness under the bright noon sun.
“I’m sorry, I just heard the door a second ago,” Melanie said, pocketing the apparatus.
“Mrs. Melanie Bishop?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
Regret passed over the woman’s face before she tapped Melanie’s arm with a large manila envelope. “You’ve been served.”
Hubert, Boyle and Stein. Divorce attorneys. She’d heard whispers about them in the ladies locker room at the country club her husband had insisted they join. They were the best. Or the worst. Depending on which side of the table you were on.
Her smile felt parched and false.
The woman took the winding steps down to the sidewalk in a hurry but sensing no threat, slowed down as she walked to her old grayish-looking Civic and got in. The car rumbled to life, but she didn’t pull off.
Melanie stared at the envelope, knowing, but not wanting to know, why Deion was having her served.
The massive front door was blue. Deion wasn’t fond of blue, but he hadn’t said he hated blue. She could’ve changed it. Would’ve, had she known.
Maybe they shouldn’t have compromised on the Porsche he’d wanted, and should have gotten it instead of the Lexus SUV.
But where would he put the baby when they had one?
That had been her argument.
Maybe he’d gotten tired of her arguments for everything.
Maybe Deion hated—
“Melanie?”
“Yes?” she said, looking around, unsure of who was calling her. It was the process server.
The woman had leaned over the passenger seat and was looking out the window. “You got a mama?” she called up to her.
“She died seven years ago.” What an odd question coming from a stranger.
“A sister or best friend?”
“A friend.” Him. Only him.
“Go in your house and call her right now. Okay?”
“Okay.” Melanie turned the knob and put her shoulders into pushing the heavy door open. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Inside the house, her sneakers made hush, hush sounds on the nearly black hardwood floors and not for the first time, she felt as if the cool silence was mocking her. She’d only agreed to this house because she’d thought they’d fill it with children. But they’d been trying for five years and she didn’t need telepathy to tell her that the papers in her hand were her expiration notice.
“Dial Deion’s cell phone,” she said aloud to the voice-activated system that controlled everything in the house.
She walked to their bedroom to Deion’s closet and didn’t notice more than the usual amount of clothes gone.
Deion was in New York at a conference for portfolio managers. She could hear his cell ringing, then roll over to voice mail. She sat on the end of their bed.
“This is Deion Bishop. I’m making deals happen, and if you’re ready, I’ll make them happen for you. Leave your name and number.” His voice was still sexy after seven years of being together. She hadn’t tired of it. Would never.
“Honey, we need to talk,” she said, injecting a smile into her voice. “There has to be some way we can make this work. We can talk about anything. Please call me here at home. I love you. Goodbye. End call.”
Two weeks after she was served, Melanie slid her maid’s paycheck through the crack in the front door, but wouldn’t open it all the way. “I don’t need you this week, Juanita. I’m just not feeling well and I don’t want you to catch my germs.”
“Mrs. Bishop, I clean two times a week, every week for five years. Mr. Bishop says so. He doesn’t like his bathroom with any dirt. I’m coming in.”
“No!” Melanie swallowed her tears. “Mr. Bishop isn’t here right now, so there’s no need to worry about his bathroom. Here, I’ll pay you for the entire month. I’ll call you when I need you. Thank you, Juanita.”
“Mrs. Bishop, you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, closing out the concerned-looking woman. “Goodbye. I’ll call you. Really. Bye, now.”
“Mrs. Bishop.”
Melanie closed the door and walked back to her bedroom. “Call Deion at work,” she commanded, relieved when she saw Juanita’s car slowly leave the cul-de-sac.
“Good morning, MJM Portfolio Management.”
“This is Melanie Bishop. May I speak to Rod Burke?”
“Just a moment, please.”
At least this time she didn’t get the baffled silence from the receptionist.
“Melanie, it’s Rod. I heard that you’ve been calling.”
“I have, Rod. Deion isn’t home from a trip he left from two weeks ago. I’m worried. He hasn’t answered his cell and I’m not sure where exactly he is.” She’d been weeping so long, her throat was raw. She cleared it, knowing she sounded like a desperate housewife. “Where is he?”
“Melanie, Deion quit working here two weeks ago.”
“What?” Shock and panic and a desperate sense that everything was coming to a close enveloped her. He loved his job and if he quit there, he had much bigger plans.
“Deion walked in one day, said he had an opportunity he couldn’t pass up and handed in his resignation. I wasn’t happy at all, but I couldn’t stop him.”
“When was this?”
“Exactly two weeks ago today.”
“Rod, do you still hold his license?”
“No, I gave it to him. We severed all ties, and he left. Funny thing, though, I thought he was going to try to undercut me and take his top clients, then I’d have recourse to sue him, but he hasn’t touched them.”
Melanie knew better than to say Deion wouldn’t cheat Rod, but that’s how Rod had gotten his start—by avoiding his former firm’s client list.
“Nothing at all, Rod?”
“Not a peep. Mel, I wish I could help, but I’ve got a meeting. I don’t know any more than I’ve told you.”
“Sorry to bother you.”
“No bother. Bye,” he said and hung up.
Melanie listened to the dial tone. All communication between her and Rod was probably over forever.
The tears poured from her as she walked from room to room, opening doors, letting her pain fill each space. Open-mouthed she cried out her sorrow in the nursery that would never know the rhapsody of her children’s glee. The guest room that had never experienced the joy of a guest, and the master bedroom that had lost its master and mistress.
Tripping on her slippers, she tumbled down the step in the den and lay there, wishing her pain would end. Why hadn’t he just told her face-to-face it was over?
How could he break her heart this way?
A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped.
“Mrs. Bishop, why are you crying?”
“Juanita? You’re back.”
“Yes, ma’am. I was worried about you. Come on, get up. I was afraid. This is my husband, Jusef.”
They helped her off the floor and to the sofa. Juanita dispatched her husband to the kitchen for a towel and glass of water. “What’s wrong?”
“He left me and I don’t know why. Just served me with divorce papers weeks ago and he’s gone.”
Juanita rubbed Melanie’s back and closed her eyes. “Let me pray for you.”
Softly in Spanish she prayed for Melanie as Jusef stood in the doorway and waited. When his wife was done, he brought the water. “May I see the papers? I’m in law school.”
“You are? Juanita, I didn’t know.”
Shame filled Melanie because she’d never gotten to know the woman who cleaned her house and had indulged her and Deion’s nonsensical wishes. “I’m so sorry.”
“No. I came here to do my job not to talk, talk, talk. I do enough of that at home. I’m helping Jusef through law school and then he will help me through culinary arts school. We will do well together.”
There was love in this family, Melanie saw, and respect. She wished she’d been able to have that with Deion.
Melanie finished the water and felt better.
“Jusef, the papers are on the dining room table. They’re clear-cut and he even signed them. I’m leaving. I was just walking around thinking about all the dreams that were lost, and I guess I got overwhelmed. This morning I accepted a job in Kentucky.”
“Are you sure you won’t give him a little more time?” Juanita asked, her own eyes sympathetic.
