A Husband To Remember. Lisa Jackson

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      * * *

      Within the hour, she heard his footsteps and braced herself for another confrontation. He appeared in the doorway with two cups of coffee. “Peace offering,” he said, setting a cup on the stand near the bed. Then he resumed his position near the window. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

      “I’d like to lie and tell you I’m fine, but I’m not.”

      He lifted a shoulder and took a long swallow. “I know. I wish I could change that.”

      “You don’t have to spend day and night here.”

      “Sure I do.”

      “I’ll be all right—”

      “Wouldn’t want my bride to get lonely.” He offered her a sly grin, then sipped from his paper cup, letting the steam warm his face.

      “I wouldn’t be.”

      “I was hoping that being around me would jog your memory.”

      Slowly, she shook her head. “Don’t be offended, but...I don’t see how I would ever have wanted to marry you. True, I can’t remember, but you don’t really seem my type.”

      “I wasn’t.” He curled one knee up on the ledge and stared through the glass. “You were used to dating buttondown types.”

      “So why would I take up with you?” she asked.

      “The challenge,” he said, his eyes twinkling seductively.

      “I don’t think so.”

      “That’s where you’re wrong.” His lips turned down at the corners. “You’ve always been a risk-taker, Nikki. A woman who wasn’t afraid to do whatever it was she felt she had to. Your job at the Observer is a case in point.”

      “My job?” she asked.

      “Mmm. You’re a reporter, and a damned good one.”

      For some strange reason, she glowed under his compliment, but she told herself to be wary. Instinctively she knew McKenzie wasn’t the kind of man who praised someone without an ulterior motive. Her shoulder muscles bunched.

      “You’ve been bucking for more difficult assignments since you signed on at the paper.”

      “And was I given them?”

      “Hell, no. A few people at the Observer, those in positions of power, like to keep things status quo. You know, women doing the entertainment news, helpful household hints, local information about schools and mayoral candidates and whose kid won the last spelling bee. That kind of thing.”

      “That’s what I wrote?” she asked, her brows drawing together. It sounded right, but she wasn’t sure.

      “Most of the time, but you were more interested in politics, the problems of gangs in the inner city, corruption in the police department, political stuff.” He watched her carefully as he sipped the thick coffee.

      “Who was my boss at the paper?”

      “A woman named Peggy Henderson...no—Hendricks, I think her name was.”

      “You don’t know?” she asked, incredulous.

      He lifted a muscular shoulder. “Never met her.” When she gazed at him skeptically, he snorted. “As I said, you and I, we haven’t known each other all that long.” Again, that soul-searing look.

      “What about my family?” she asked, her fingers twisting in the sheets. He was giving her more information than she could handle.

      “Your father’s based in Seattle, owns his own import/export business. But he’s out of town a lot. In the Orient. You have a sister back east and one in Montana somewhere, I think, and your mother lives in L.A.”

      “My folks are divorced?” Lord, why wasn’t any of this registering? she wondered. Why couldn’t she conjure up her mother’s smile, her father’s face, the color of her sisters’ hair?

      “Dr. Padillo didn’t want you to rush things,” Trent said evenly. “He thinks it’s best if your memory returns on your own.”

      “And you disagree?”

      “I don’t know what to think, but I’m sure the best thing for you would be to get you home, back to the States, where an American doctor, maybe even a psychiatrist or neurosurgeon, could look at you.”

      Her throat closed. “Could my amnesia be permanent?” she asked, her heart nearly stopping. The thought of living the rest of her life with no recollection of her childhood, the homes she’d grown up in, the family she’d loved, was devastating. A black tide of desperation threatened to draw her into its inky depths.

      A shadow crossed his eyes. “I don’t know. But the sooner we get home, the better.” This side of Trent was new, as if he were suddenly concerned for her emotional well-being. “Tomorrow Padillo’s springing you. I’ll pick up everything at the hotel, meet you here, and we’ll take the first flight back to Seattle.”

      “I’d like to call someone.”

      He froze. “Who?”

      “My editor, for starters. Then my mother, I guess.” Was it her imagination or did his spine stiffen slightly?

      “If the doctor agrees.”

      “Why wouldn’t he?”

      “As I said, I’m no medicine man. But I’ll see if I can get a portable phone down here. If not, you can use the pay booth at the end of the hall.”

      “Now?”

      “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

      “Well, I do.” She forced herself upright, ignored the dull ache in her hip and leg, and slid over the edge of the bed. As she set weight on her right ankle, she winced, but the pain wasn’t as intense as she’d expected. She didn’t know the layout of the hospital, but she hoped to find Mrs. Martínez’s room. If she couldn’t get the information about the girl from the hotel from Nurse Vásquez, she’d check with Mrs. Martínez. There were more ways than one to skin a cat.

      “Get back in the bed,” Trent ordered.

      “Not yet.”

      “Nikki, please—”

      “Help me to the bathroom,” she said, tossing her hair off her face and grabbing the light cotton robe that was thrown across the foot of the bed. It was hospital issue and not the least bit flattering, but at least it covered the gaps left by the hospital gown. Balancing most of her weight on her left foot, she shoved her hands down the sleeves and tied a knot in the loose belt. “Come on, husband.”

      For a second he seemed about to refuse. “This is crazy.”

      “The nurse told me that whenever I felt like getting СКАЧАТЬ