Wife With Amnesia. Metsy Hingle

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      “You know, pal, I didn’t have to notify you that she was here. When they brought her in, she was barely conscious and didn’t have any ID. It was just pure luck that I was the one on duty and recognized her. Considering the situation between you two, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that I broke some sort of hospital confidentiality rule by calling you. Don’t make me regret making that call, Matt.”

      “Aw, hell, Jeff. I’m sorry. It’s just when you said she’d been hurt, and that the guy had used a gun, I…I guess I went a little crazy.”

      “A little?”

      “All right. A lot. It’s just…I was afraid that…I thought—” His voice broke. “Hell, it doesn’t matter what I thought. The way things have been between us lately, she probably won’t even want to see me. But I need to see her, Jeff. I really do. I need to see with my own eyes that’s she’s all right.”

      “Take it easy, man. No one’s trying to stop you from seeing her. But she’s been drifting in and out of consciousness since they brought her in. Give me a second to find out if she’s awake yet, and then you can go in.”

      “Jeff, wait! First, I need to know what to expect. Be straight with me. How bad off she is. Is she…is she going to make it?”

      Poor guy, Claire thought as she heard the anguish in his voice. Chiding herself, she turned away from the door. She had no right to eavesdrop, to listen to his anxiety over his wife’s condition, she told herself. Besides, she had enough problems of her own to worry about—like why she was in a hospital and why couldn’t she remember how she had ended up here.

      “Damn, I could kick myself! I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t realize you thought— I never meant to imply that her injuries were that serious. They’re not.”

      “But you said the mugger used a gun.”

      “He did. According to the witness, the guy hit her on the head with one.”

      Finding it impossible to concentrate on her own situation while the drama unfolded outside her room, Claire gave up and listened.

      “The blow to her head was the most serious of her injuries. It took a dozen stitches to close up the gash and she’s probably going to have a doozy of a headache. She’s also got a sprained ankle, some nasty scrapes and bruising from being shoved to the ground. But the bruising will fade and the cut on her head should heal with little or no scarring.”

      “But you said there were complications.”

      “I said there might be complications. She’s suffered a serious blow to the head, Matt, and whenever you’re dealing with a head injury that’s always a possibility—”

      A voice squawked over the PA system, cutting off the rest of the doctor’s explanation as well as any response that followed. After a few more seconds in which more announcements followed, Claire could make out only low-pitched murmurs and the squeaking wheel of a passing cart. Finally she gave up trying to pick up the threads of their conversation again.

      Just as well, she thought with a sigh. To listen took concentration on her part, and concentration took energy. And suddenly she was feeling incredibly tired. Weariness washed over her, stealing the last of her reserves. Her eyelids felt as if they were weighted with lead. Keeping them open or even trying to think became impossible. So she gave up the battle.

      But the moment Claire’s eyelids fluttered shut, storm clouds seemed to engulf her, muddling her senses, dragging her deeper and deeper into some dark abyss. She was running. Faces and voices became jumbled. The need to escape grew stronger. Someone was chasing her. Hide, a voice whispered inside her head. Fear climbed in her throat as she ran and ran. She tasted the salt of tears, heard someone weeping, but still she ran.

      Don’t stop! Run! Hide!

      The voice urged her on, and Claire continued to run. She ran and ran, racing through the shadows. She fell. She got up. She ran harder still, ignoring the ache in her side, the burning in her lungs. And as Claire slipped into the well of unconsciousness that beckoned, she could have sworn she heard the rumble of that whiskey-rough voice from the hall once again. And this time he was calling her name.

      “Claire? Claire, can you hear me?”

      Pain knifed through Claire’s skull, and she whimpered as she battled through the heavy fog surrounding her.

      “Shh. It’s okay.” His breath was a soft rush of air against her chilled skin. Warm, callused fingers caressed her cheek. Instinctively she moved closer toward the source of that heat. “That’s my girl. Try to wake up, sweetheart. Open those pretty brown eyes for me.”

      Another missile of pain fired inside her head, but Claire muscled through it. She wanted, needed to get closer to that warmth, to see the face that belonged to the voice that had comforted her during the long night of dark dreams. When at last she managed to force her eyes open, two things registered simultaneously. First, the man’s face was every bit as compelling as his voice. Cary Grant handsome with jet-black hair, razor-sharp cheekbones, a square, uncompromising chin and eyes the color of flint. And second, she didn’t have a clue who he was.

      He stared down at her with an intensity that she found disturbingly intimate. “Welcome back,” he said in a voice that packed a sensual punch and sent a shiver of awareness through her.

      “Thanks,” she murmured and worked to put a name with his face.

      “You feeling okay? I can call the doctor….”

      “No,” she told him, wanting a moment to get her bearings. She was in a hospital, and her name was… Claire. Claire Gallagher, she recalled after a quick glance at her wristband. And the GQ hunk watching her with anxious eyes was… She frowned, tried to remember. A flutter of panic danced along her spine when she came up blank. Pushing to sit up, she winced as the movement set off new explosions of pain in her head and ankle.

      “Hey, take it easy,” he soothed. “Head hurting?”

      She nodded, only to wince when the movement elicited another stab of pain in her head.

      “I’ll call the doctor and see about getting you something for the pain.”

      “No. Wait. Please. It was only a twinge,” she told him. “I’m okay.” And she didn’t want to take anything that would make her feel fuzzier than she did already.

      “You sure?”

      “Yes. I’m all right. Honest.”

      “I’m glad to hear one of us is,” he said, giving her a halfhearted grin. “I was scared spitless when Jeff called and told me you were hurt.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair.

      “Keep doing that and you’re going to pull it out.”

      He grimaced at her remark. “Reflex, I guess. Like I said, I was worried. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out every hair on my head has turned white,” he told her, another half smile curving his mouth.

      It hadn’t, Claire noted. His hair was as black as coal and had a tendency to curl just at the edges. He looked and sounded so familiar. So why couldn’t she remember who he was or how he fit into her life?

      “God. I was so scared I was going СКАЧАТЬ