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“Bishop … oh, God. I’m sorry.” Confusion swam in her glistening eyes. “I didn’t mean that. Not a word.”
Bishop let go of the breath he’d been holding. Apparently, a lack of memory couldn’t suppress her true, less than charitable feelings toward him. The person who’d challenged him a second ago had sounded like the Laura who’d glared at him when she’d told him to get out. The Laura who had mailed divorce papers a year to the day after that.
Laura was the one who’d ended their marriage. Of course he’d been upset. Hell, he’d been wounded to his core. But he’d never hated her. He didn’t hate her now. Nor did her love her. Which should make this situation easier than it was.
He nodded to the bed. “You need to lie down.”
“I need to talk to you.”
He held the cover back again. “Lie down.”
When she stood up, refusing, he fought the urge to force her to act in her own best interests and do as she was told. But that was out of the question, for more reasons than one. She was still a beautiful woman … more beautiful than he even remembered. As much as his brain knew they couldn’t live together, his physiology understood only that she was uniquely, tormentingly desirable.
How easy it would be even now to sweep her up, whisk her away and take shameful advantage of this situation. So easy … And more destructive than any act that had ever come before.
He loosened the knot at his throat. He’d try to reason with her one more time.
“You might think you’re all right, but—”
“I thought we were pregnant.”
The back of his knees caved in. Tipping sideways, Bishop propped his shoulder against the wall then, mind spinning, slid to sit on the bed. His ears were ringing. He felt as if a bomb had exploded inches from his face. Holding his brow, he waited for the stars to fade then finally found the wherewithal to question his ex-wife.
His voice was a croak.
“You thought … what?”
She folded down beside him and held his hand as she beseeched him with her eyes. “I was so happy. And worried. Worried about what you would say.”
His chest squeezed around a deep ache at the same time a horrible emptiness welled up inside of him. He felt ransacked. As if his insides had been ripped out and thrown on the floor. He couldn’t go through this again, not for anything. Not even that trusting, desperate look on Laura’s face.
He turned more toward her, willed the truth to show in his eyes. “Listen to me … you couldn’t be.”
“I know we use protection,” she countered, “but nothing’s a hundred percent.”
The breath Bishop held burned in his chest. This was worse than he’d thought. Was now the time to serve it to her cold? If he were in her shoes, he’d prefer it that way. He wouldn’t want to feel like a fool later on. Laura wouldn’t, either. They weren’t married anymore, much less pregnant.
Her green eyes glistened over at him and as her fingers kneaded his, unbidden brush fires began to heat and lick familiar pathways through his veins. Closing his eyes, he worked to kill the desire to take her in his arms and comfort her as a devoted husband would. So vivid, so hauntingly clear … it all might have happened yesterday. Their meeting, the wedding, the honeymoon, that fall from the northern footbridge, then the slow agonizing death of “them.”
“You are not pregnant.” His words were strained, controlled. Or, if you are, I’m not the father.
Her slim nostrils flared with quiet courage and she nodded. “The doctor told me. I was mistaken.” That hope-filled light came back up in her eyes. “But when I thought I had a baby growing inside of me, a tiny new life that we’d created, it made me realize …”
Her gaze grew strangely distant and yet somehow stronger. Then her shoulders rolled back and a fire lit her cheeks.
“My illness won’t make a difference to how I feel,” she told him. “I know there’s a risk, but I want a baby, Bishop. Our baby.” She held his hand tighter, angled her head and brought his fingers to her hot cheek. “We just need to have faith.”
Bishop closed his eyes as a scolding, prickling sensation crawled up his spine. They’d already had this conversation.
Going on two years ago. It had been the beginning of the end … a long, drawn out, bitter affair.
Laura’s broken voice cut through the haze.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.”
Again Bishop tugged the Windsor knot at his throat and, finding it increasingly difficult to breathe, lengthened his neck. Other than Laura’s light floral scent, the air in here seemed stale. He needed some space to try and work out how to diffuse this crazy situation before it got any worse.
Winding his hand out of hers, he found his feet and an impassive voice.
“Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?” Three fingers of scotch sat at the top of his wish list.
“There is one thing.” She stood, too, leaned closer and placed a warm palm on his chest. Unbidden flames ignited in his sternum as her slightly parted mouth came near. “I need for you to kiss me.”
Two
In her eyes—in his heart—Bishop understood that today Laura loved him. He also understood she was far from her true state of mind. Fighting the raw ache in his throat, he found his ex-wife’s arms and urged her gently away.
Refusing her affection was one of the most difficult things he’d ever had to do; toward the end of their marriage he’d have given anything to have had her show him love again. But while his hardening body whispered for him to accept what she offered now, his conscience said a resounding no. Laura was far from well, and no man for any reason needed to take advantage of that.
But he had to be careful how he handled this problem. He didn’t want to tip her over whatever mental precipice she so obviously teetered on.
He put a calming note into his voice. “Laura, this isn’t the time.”
“Not the time?” Her face pinched. Then she blinked several times. “I don’t understand. We’re husband and wife. We always kiss.”
His heart lurched but he wouldn’t let that twist of emotion show. How in God’s name would he ever navigate through this mess? He felt as if he’d been thrown into the mouth of an active volcano. Everywhere he stepped he got burned. A lot like their marriage, really.
But information was power. He’d get the facts, a professional’s opinion and see what was what.
Laura was still looking at him, confusion and hurt brimming in her eyes. In the first three months of their marriage, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her, and vice versa.
Even now …
Needing to reassure her, he relented and let one palm slide down her arm. Immediately, that minimal contact sent up a flare and a throb that echoed like a warning bell through his blood. Setting his jaw, he put up both his hands and took a resolute step back.
“I’ll go speak to a doctor.”
“About the pregnancy test.”
His gut knotted and jaw tightened more.
“Yes. About that.”
He left her standing in a white hospital gown, uncertain, beside the bed. In the corridor, he took a moment to orient himself and order his blood pressure to drop. Laura might be the one who’d had a fall and lost her memory but he was the one feeling off balance. Still, there must be a rational, safe way to maneuver through this hopscotch of emotional landmines. And damned if he wouldn’t find it, and find it fast.
At the nurses’ station, Bishop made an inquiry and a man in a white coat studying a file down the hall was pointed out. He sped off.
“Doctor—” Bishop glanced at the name tag as he came to a stop “—Stokes, I’m Samuel Bishop. I was told you examined Laura Bishop earlier.”
The middle-aged doctor peered over his bifocals and set aside the folder. “You’re Mrs. Bishop’s husband?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
The doctor gave a knowing grin and they crossed the room, away from others’ earshot.
“Head trauma,” Doctor Stokes summed up. “Retrograde memory loss.”
Bishop nodded. “How long will it last?”
“Usually in these cases, memory returns gradually over the following days. It can take longer. In some rare instances it never returns.”
Bishop’s head began to tingle. He needed to clarify. “In rare instances?”
“Initial tests were free of fractures or contusions. She could stay overnight but, as long as she takes it easy and you keep an eye on her, there’s no reason she can’t go home. When she sleeps, wake her every three to four hours and ask those same simple questions—name, address—to be sure she’s stable. You can see your own GP for a follow-up.”
Take her home…?
Bishop scratched his temple. “Thing is, Doc, we’re not married anymore.”
One of the doctor’s eyebrows lifted. “Your sister-in-law hinted as much.”
“Ex-sister-in-law.”
The older man’s eyes conveyed his sympathies for the situation before he slotted his hands into his coat pockets. “Subtle jogging of the memory. Perhaps photos when you think she’s ready. When she’s in familiar surroundings, I’m sure more recent events will resurface soon enough.” Doctor Stokes seemed about to say more but then he merely tipped his head. “Good luck, Mr. Bishop.”
As the doctor moved off, Bishop fell back into a nearby chair. He’d need a whole lot more than luck.
His cell phone vibrated against his hip and he scanned the text from his second-in-charge, Willis McKee.
Where are you? A buyer’s on the line. Wants to speak with you ASAP.
Bishop’s jaw shifted. Already?
He’d listed Bishop Scaffolds and Building Equipment, the business he’d built to a multimillion dollar entity, only last week. At the price he’d set, he’d never expected such a quick response, and he wasn’t certain how he felt about it.
Over these past few months, since the finality of the separation had sunk in, he’d felt a certain restlessness. One chapter of his personal life had closed and he’d begun to wonder whether he needed a new challenge in his professional life, as well. But he hadn’t given a lot of thought as to which direction he should take.
Still, he was pleased he’d taken the initiative to move forward. He’d been seeing a nice woman for just over a month, too. Nothing serious; he wasn’t certain he’d ever do serious again. But he enjoyed Annabelle’s company. She wasn’t high maintenance. Didn’t ask the impossible.
Bishop snapped the cell shut.
And now Laura was back in his life, and given the doc’s opinion, who knew for how long? What the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t simply walk away. Then again, how could he stay? He was stuck like a bug under a shoe.
A tap on the shoulder brought him back and his head snapped up. When he saw Grace poised beside him, he groaned. At this moment, she was his least favorite person. What was new?
Grace made herself comfortable in a seat alongside him and laced her peach-tipped nails on her crisp linen lap.
“So now you know.”
He slid her a bland look. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“She didn’t remember?”
“Laura thinks today is our three-month anniversary.”
“How are you celebrating?”
He pushed to his feet. “Don’t be smart, Grace.” He set off toward Laura’s room. He’d have to speak with this woman again and soon, but right now he didn’t trust himself to keep his hands from circling her throat. He didn’t care how much she disapproved of him; he should have been warned.
The only good thing to come from his and Laura’s bust up was getting rid of one very toxic influence in his life. Always sticking her nose in, stirring up trouble. Laura had defended her sister, but he wondered if deep down she wondered if she’d picked the short straw in the sister pool of life. Grace was one hell of a control freak.
Of course, he’d heard people say the same about him, but that was different. He had a business to run. People who relied on him to get things done right, and that meant the first time.
“I still think you could have saved the marriage.”
Grace’s silky words hit his back and, temper spiking, Bishop edged around. He set his hands on his hips to keep from making fists.
“First, redundant observation, Grace. There isn’t a marriage anymore. Second—” steam rising from his collar, he strode back “—are you trying to have me think you want Laura and me to get back together? Because I’d sooner believe in the Easter Bunny.”
Fingers unlacing, Grace found her feet, too. She always came across as so damn perfect—hair, nails, prissy platinum blond French roll. He’d love to rattle her cage, but this wasn’t the place. Already, interested people were staring.
“You’re wrong,” Grace said, “if you think I want to see Laura unhappy.”
Grace wasn’t interested in anything but being right. “You never wanted us married.”
“I didn’t want you to marry so soon. You both needed time to think things through. You didn’t give yourselves a decent chance.”
“And you’ve been gloating about that ever since.”
Her head tilted as her gaze searched his. “Have you considered using this time in a positive way? This might be an opportunity to do things differently. To listen to her this time. Try to understand.”
Bishop only glared. Even now she was trying to manipulate. Grace knew nothing. She hadn’t lived in their home during that turbulent time. He’d done his best. From the start, when Laura had said she’d changed her mind and wanted to have a baby of their own rather than adopt, he’d tried to understand. Their downfall wasn’t due to his behavior but to Laura’s conscience; she’d made the wrong decision and had never gotten over it.
Her hopeful look dissolving, Grace sighed.
“I’ve said goodbye to Laura.” She collected her handbag and headed toward the wing’s exit. “Take good care of her.”
He almost called out; where the hell did she think she was going? Grace had always been so ready to ingratiate her presence into Laura’s life before. Now, when Laura really needed her, she was walking out? But the question marks on their curious audience’s faces roped back any choice words. As uncomfortable as this would be with his ex, having Grace around would only make the situation ten times more difficult. If Laura’s parents were alive, he was certain they would step up, but both her mother and father had died long before Laura met him.
Like it or not, this was his problem, as well as Laura’s, to work through.
Resigned, Bishop returned to the private hospital room. When he entered, Laura was standing by the window, her arms wrapped around her middle. She rotated back. Her delicate face was pale. Clearly she wanted to go to him, but after his earlier reticence, she hesitated.
“I spoke with the doctor,” he said.
“And?”
Bishop considered his reply. He thought about Grace’s opinion—a second chance—then the doctor’s remark regarding rare instances. Might Laura never regain her memory? Could this accident give them another shot at their relationship? After all the anguish, a full year apart, was there any piece of him that even wanted that? He didn’t love her. Not anymore. Too much water under that bridge. For now, however, he could only take one step at a time.
