скачать книгу бесплатно
He’s dead.
THE CHILI WAS HOT. The beer was cold. The green beans were fresh from Ruby Kramer’s garden. Taryn had traded for them that afternoon with a loaf of sourdough bread. A cherry pie waited on the counter—a sweet ending to a meal meant to win a man’s heart.
All that was missing was Chance.
Taryn flopped into a kitchen chair and straightened a linen napkin. She’d planned everything to the last second.
Then Chance had come home and knocked her best intentions haywire. She couldn’t resist him; never had been able to.
The attraction wasn’t just that his distinctive cheekbones made him look at once savage and sexy. It wasn’t just that his bottomless dark eyes seemed to take her in and hold her safe. It was also because the bone-deep goodness in him made her believe in the possibility of enduring happiness.
She hated herself for making Chance feel bad about doing his job. His loyalty and his genuine care were two qualities she admired in him.
She’d wanted everything to be perfect, everything to feel right. Determined, she stood up. “It still can be.”
The evening was young. Chance could handle Billy Ray Brett in no time. He’d done it often enough. She hurried toward the bathroom and started the shower. This was going to be a special night. One she hoped Chance would never forget. She wasn’t going to ruin it with a fit of resentment.
She would feed him. She would seduce him. Then she would tell him their world was about to be turned upside down. As steam started to fill the small room, she stood before the mirror and cleared her throat.
“Chance, I have something to tell you,” she said out loud, testing the words she’d practiced all day in her head as she’d mixed and kneaded and baked. Why was her heart beating so fast? Why did her tongue feel so stiff and clumsy? Why did her eyes look so wild with apprehension? She swallowed hard and tried again. “Chance, remember when you said—” She growled at her disappearing image in the mirror. “Chance, I’m…we’re…”
A gulp of fear brought one hand to her belly, the other to her throat. What if…? No, she wasn’t going to worry. Chance would be pleased. Hadn’t he said so a dozen times already?
She undressed and stepped into the shower. There she lathered in a shower gel of Chance’s favorite summer-rain scent and lingered for a long time under the hot spray of water until the fear and resentment flowed down the drain along with the soapy water. After drying herself, she slathered on a body lotion of the same summer-rain scent. Hair wound in a turban of towel, she headed for the bedroom.
Out of the closet, she took the tiny red dress she’d been hiding for a week—until the time was right. She planned to meet her husband at the door wearing nothing but that scrap of cloth. It left little to the imagination. And this time, she would make him wait before she allowed him to render her mindless in his arms.
A small smile of satisfaction curled her lips as she imagined Chance’s appreciation of the dress. She loved the way his gaze seemed to eat her alive when he was aroused, the way his dark eyes glittered with desire. And she loved that little groan deep in his throat as he reached for her. That seductive sound was part warrior’s claim, part helplessness—as if he couldn’t resist her even if he tried. That made her feel safe and secure and wanted.
Just as she tossed her towel onto the neatly made bed, she heard a car turn into the driveway.
“No, I’m not ready!” She rushed to the window, snapped the curtain open and peeked out. Not Chance’s cruiser, but Tad Pruitt’s truck. She groaned. Tad was having girlfriend problems and she’d made the mistake of telling him to drop by anytime he needed to talk. He’d taken her up on her offer three times this week already. And what was he doing coming to bother her while he was on duty and Chance was torn from her bed to answer a call?
She’d get rid of Tad quick, she decided as she donned a T-shirt and shorts and stuffed her feet into sandals. Maybe she ought to send him to her grandmother. She shook her head and laughed. Nola Barnes was opinionated enough for three. She’d set Tad straight in no time.
Taryn opened the door. Heat slapped her face, making her suck in a breath. Where was Tad? She couldn’t hear his footsteps on the gravel walkway. Frowning, she stepped onto the deck. She lifted a hand against the setting sun and saw Tad sitting in the truck, both hands on the steering wheel. This wasn’t good. He’d need reassurance and calming words and all she wanted to do was get ready for Chance.
“Tad? Are you all right?” But something about the way he stared at her wasn’t right. An arrow of fear sliced through her heart and razored all the way to her stomach.
The truck door creaked. Tad exited, keeping his gaze toward the ground. In the place of cocky arrogance, he wore a pained expression. His usually straight and tall posture was bowed. His tan uniform shirt sported dark splotches. He fiddled with his hat. Round and round it went. His brown pants were ripped at the knee. His boots were muddy.
“Tad?” Her heart knocked hard. Her limbs felt leaden. She slinked forward, using the railing as a crutch. “Tad?”
“Taryn,” he croaked. He took two steps forward, then stopped. His eyes looked desperate. He braced himself as if for a blow. She knew then that her world was about to come apart.
“Chance?”
Tad nodded. “He’s had an accident.”
Taryn’s ears rang. Her heart stopped beating, then made up the lapse in double time. Her legs shook. Despite the heat that slicked her skin, a cold shiver racked her body. She held on to the deck railing with all of her strength. “No, God, no. What happened? Where is he? How is he?”
“He’s alive,” Tad said in a rush. He climbed the three steps to the deck, started to reach for her, then drew back. “He drove into the river.”
“The river?” She frowned, not understanding. No, no, no. Not the river. Chance was a cautious driver, an expert diver. No river, not even Red Thunder, could get the best of him. Tad had made a mistake. Chance was too strong, too good to be taken by the river. Then why couldn’t she stop shaking? “What happened?”
“We’re not sure. They took him to Beaumont.” Tad put his hand on Taryn’s trembling shoulder. “I’ll drive you.”
She nodded and let him lead her to his truck.
This was not happening. This could not be happening.
He’s mine, she told the river. You can’t have him.
As Tad drove, her world unraveled until Taryn’s mind became nothing more than a snarl of worries.
She could not lose Chance. Not now. Not with a baby on the way.
“HELLO, darlin’.” Garth Ramsey drawled the endearment because he’d learned the ladies liked the sound of his voice deep and gravelly. The performance wasn’t so much for the body on the bed as for the staff tending to it. Image, he’d learned the hard way, bought you more than truth.
He handed a plate of oatmeal cookies to Jessie Ross, the night nurse. “I brought a treat for my wife.” He smiled and whipped his other hand from behind his back. “And for you wonderful Florence Nightingales, a box of chocolates.”
“Aren’t you the sweetest man?” Jessie gushed. She placed the plate of cookies on the nightstand beside the bed and the box of chocolates on the dresser by the upholstered glider she was using. A canvas sack with knitting lay beside the chair. Pale blue wool ran from the bag to a set of knitting needles that held what looked like a sleeve for a baby sweater.
“Now you make sure you leave some for the day staff or I’ll never hear the end of it,” he teased.
“This box is big enough to entertain an army.” She smiled at him and he knew he could have her if he wanted. All he’d have to do is ask and she’d fall into his arms. But his taste didn’t run to short, skinny brunettes with no figure, even when the room’s low light gave her pretty-enough features a soft golden glow. Besides, as part of his image of devoted husband, he’d decided it was best not to fool around with the staff at the Pine Creek Home. Finding a willing partner was never a problem.
“How’s she been doing this week?” he asked. He sat on the teal leather chair by the bed and stroked his wife’s silky blond hair. They’d wanted to cut it to make it easier to tend, but he’d insisted they leave it long and loose.
“No change really,” Jessie said, and popped a chocolate in her mouth. “She’s been a little more active during the day.”
“How so?”
“She likes to sit outside and puts up a fuss when we take her in.”
“Ah, yes, she was always one for the great outdoors.”
“She’s been more fussy about food, too. We practically have to force-feed her. She’s come up a touch anemic on her tests, but don’t worry, the doctor’s got her on iron. She’ll appreciate those cookies. They’re her favorite.”
“Well, in her case, it’s the little things that make a difference.”
“You’re so good to her. I’ll leave you alone and take my break now,” Jessie said.
“That would be great. Take your time. My wife and I have a lot of catching up to do.”
Smiling and all but batting her eyelashes, Jessie tiptoed out of the room.
They all thought his twice-weekly visits were husbandly devotion. In truth, they were an inspection of his investment. As long as his darling wife was nothing more than a body going through the motions of life, he was free to live as he pleased. Her vacant mind bought him immunity.
He scooted the chair closer to the bed, held her hand in case someone should happen by and peek through the glass window on the door, and whispered in her ear, “Remember, darlin’, when you thought you could manipulate me as easily as you did your sweetheart? You learned your lesson, didn’t you? I always win.”
She turned her head at the sound of his voice and opened her eyes. There beneath the dull veneer in her gray-green eyes was a spark of something that needed to be nipped before it got out of control.
“I’ve noticed more light in your eyes lately and this longing for the outdoors isn’t good. I’ve got just the thing. My friend says that one extra dose should keep you right where you are.”
With his back carefully hiding his activity, he swabbed the crook of her elbow with an alcohol pad and injected a small dose of an experimental drug. The needle was so tiny it left no mark on her delicate skin. She mewled like a kitten in pain, tried to twist away, but she was too weak and there was nothing she could do to stop him.
“That’s it, darlin’, take it in. Let me take care of you. Let me shelter you from the real world. You were always too good for them.”
He returned the syringe and the used alcohol pad to a sunglasses case in his blazer pocket.
As long as Ellen’s brain misfired, there was no one to deny any of his claims, there was nothing to stop him. He was on top of the world and climbing higher every day.
“Sleep well, darlin’.”
Chapter Two
The gash on Chance’s head worried Taryn. The swollen blue and purple mark curved from temple to temple. Five stitches pinched the skin above his left eyebrow.
Watching him so still and white beneath the hospital sheets made her soul wither by inches. The emergency-room doctor had told her Chance had regained consciousness for a while before he’d slipped into a coma and that he might also be suffering from traumatic amnesia. He’d told her not to worry, that Chance’s injuries probably weren’t life-threatening. But how could she not worry? The man she’d thought invincible was lying in a hospital bed unconscious.
“The chili will keep,” she told him, trying to keep up a one-sided conversation to fill the silence that was otherwise too heavy to bear. “Probably taste even better tomorrow. So will the pie. And I’m sure Ruby will have another basketful of beans to sell before the week’s out.”
Not a muscle moved, not an eyelash twitched. She could be watching a corpse, except that the machinery beside him with its beeps and moving lines told her he was alive.
“Maud came by the bakery this afternoon. Right when I was closing, too. Have you ever noticed she seems to time her every action in a way that will irritate somebody?” Taryn gave a weak laugh. “She was complaining about the heat as she bought every last buttermilk biscuit I had. Plus a loaf of cinnamon raisin bread. Plus half a dozen sweet rolls. And you know those didn’t last until she got home.”
Taryn held Chance’s hand and stroked the back of it with her thumb. The skin was rough and familiar beneath her finger, but cold. She hiked the blanket over his chest and wrapped both her hands around his to warm him. Her lips trembled and she pressed them tight to hold back a sob.
“Hey,” she said, trying hard to inject some lightness into her voice. “Maybe now you’ll take the vacation you’ve been meaning to take—for what?—seven years now. We could go away for a week. Or ask Liz and Jake to join us, and you and Jake could go diving while Liz and I go antiquing.”
Wake up. Please wake up. Seeing him like this was killing her. She couldn’t bear the thought that he wouldn’t come back to her, of trying to live without the man she loved with all her heart. He gave her confidence, made her feel secure. He was always there for her. She needed him now more than ever. She squeezed his hand and willed him to squeeze back.
“I’ve got something to tell you. I think you’ll be pleased. But I want to see the look in your eyes when I tell you my secret. So you’ll just have to wake up, you hear?”
She wanted to see the initial shock of her announcement widen his dark eyes, then see the slow spread of his smile. His lips always kicked up a bit higher on one side than the other and lent him a boyish charm she’d found hard to resist since the first time she’d seen him stroll into her mother’s diner.
She kissed his fingertips. “Wake up, Chance. Please wake up.”
What if the doctor was wrong? What if Chance didn’t come back? What if he stayed in this coma? What if he couldn’t remember her? What if he died? Taryn scrunched her eyes closed and swallowed hard. One hand went to her belly and cradled the life growing there. Could she raise this baby alone? The process of single parenting had turned her mother bitter and angry. Was that what she had to look forward to?
No, she wouldn’t think about it. Chance would recover. He had to. She would accept no other alternative. She’d waited seven years to start this family; she wasn’t going to have her dream taken away from her before it materialized.
“Mrs. Conover?”
The voice startled Taryn out of the loop of her worries. She turned to see a man standing at the door. “Could I speak with you for a few minutes?”
She glanced from Chance to the man and back. “I—I…”
He took the extra straight chair along the wall and dragged it next to her. “I’m Dr. Benton, the staff psychiatrist. I’d like to go over your husband’s chart with you.”
“Psychiatrist?” She frowned. Dr. Benton had a compact body under a lab coat that somehow reminded her of a cowboy’s duster, lank pale red hair that needed a cut, and green eyes that bugged out as if he’d read too many books in less than ideal light. He looked all wrong. A psychiatrist should have a calm, reassuring presence, but this man seemed to have a frenetic energy dancing all around him. “Why does Chance need a psychiatrist?”
“Dr. Gregory, the doctor who saw your husband in the emergency room, believes that the patient’s amnesia is not of a physiological nature.”
Taryn swiveled her body away from Chance, but still held on to his hand. “But Dr. Gregory said the coma was temporary. That it was helping him heal.”
Dr. Benton flipped a page on the chart he was carrying and flicked two fingers on the paper. “Head wounds often look worse than they are because they bleed so profusely. But other than the small laceration on his forehead, there seems to be nothing physically wrong with him.”
“But he’s in a coma. The knock must have been harder than you think. Chance is strong and healthy. He wouldn’t turn into a weakling so easily.”
Dr. Benton tried to look sympathetic, but the twist of his features looked more patronizing than concerned. “There’s no sign of trauma. The X rays, the MRI all came back negative. There’s nothing physically wrong with your husband.”
She shot up, placing herself between the doctor and Chance. “Other than the fact that he almost drowned and now he’s in a coma! What exactly are you trying to tell me?”
“When your husband came to in the emergency room, he couldn’t remember who he was, where he was, what happened to him.”
Taryn’s heart thudded heavily once in her chest. She hadn’t wanted to believe Dr. Gregory when he’d mentioned Chance’s probable amnesia. He couldn’t forget her. She’d prove that to everyone once Chance woke up. He wouldn’t forget the love they had; it was too strong. She squeezed her nape as she ordered her thoughts. “But that’s normal. He was in an accident. He’ll remember soon. Dr. Gregory said so.”
Dr. Benton eagerly bent over the chart. “In his paperwork, it’s noted that he suffered a previous episode of traumatic amnesia.”
Oh no, God, no. Her pulse jagged fast and hard. She didn’t like where this was heading at all. Could Chance have forgotten everything again? How was that possible after all they’d shared? Her legs felt shaky. She sat. “Fifteen years ago.”
Dr. Benton licked his lips, his eyes bugged out even more, and he seemed to savor what was coming next. “I believe your husband is suffering through a second episode of traumatic amnesia brought about by the return of a state-dependent memory.”
“You lost me.”
“The original trauma took place fifteen years ago,” he explained slowly as if she were dim-witted. He turned the chart at an angle and pointed. “It says here that his body was discovered not far from where today’s accident happened.”
“Yes, I know.”
A restless energy overtook Dr. Benton as he pointed to a second entry. “The time of the year is the same. Late May for the first incident. Early June for this one.”
“Yes, but what does one have to do with the other? The incident happened fifteen years ago.”
He scooted to the edge of his chair and leaned forward. “Traumatic events elicit major physiological responses in the body. Memories of the event are biochemically ‘attached’ to the traumatic physiological state and that produces a state-dependent memory.”
“Please, Dr. Benton—”
He held a hand up and rushed on. “I believe that something about the conditions today—something he heard or saw or smelled—brought back the memory he forgot fifteen years ago and it threw him back into that world. Those cues were a match to the conditions that existed fifteen years ago at the time of his trauma and brought back the lost memory. He didn’t just remember what happened, he relived it.”
“You’re saying that because he remembered what he forgot, now he’s forgotten again.”
“Exactly!”
“But why would that cause him to forget who he is now?”
He rubbed his hands together as if he were contemplating digging into a juicy steak. “Now that’s the mystery I’d like to explore. The brain and how it works is so fascinating.”
