A Baby For Mommy. Sara Orwig

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      Two

      Stunned, Micah looked at her and swore softly under his breath. “You still have a bump on the back of your head from a blow you must have received in the crash. Have you had headaches since the crash?”

      “Yes. They were blinding at first.”

      “I assumed you’re Raffaela Granillo, the married twin.”

      “The woman who died was my twin sister?” she asked in a tight voice. “Do I look like her?”

      “Exactly.”

      She closed her eyes, and Micah reached out to grasp her shoulder, wondering if she was going to faint. The moment his hand closed over her, her eyes flew open. As she gazed up at him, he leaned closer. Her lips parted. There was still daylight, and he gazed into the cool depths of frightened green eyes. He saw the moment she became aware of him as a man. Her eyes widened and pink suffused her cheeks. He felt a stirring of want, looking again at her mouth. Her lips were full and curved, and he wondered if they were as soft as they appeared.

      Annoyed with himself and struggling for control of his impulses, he met her gaze. “Are you all right?” His voice was husky, and his fingers closed a little tighter on her shoulder. Her bones felt delicate beneath his hand, a contact that he didn’t want to end.

      “Yes, I’m okay. I was just surprised by what you told me,” she said in a small, breathless voice that revealed she was having as much reaction as he.

      He told himself to move away from her, yet he sat there staring at her while she gazed back with a strange searching look in her eyes. As if drawn by an unseen force, he leaned closer. Then he realized what he had just done and scooted away from her.

      “When you’re with your husband and family, it will come back to you,” he said gruffly, swearing silently at himself. He remembered Luke saying she cheated on her husband, and he felt a stir of contempt. He might be old-fashioned in her circle, but he thought wedding vows were forever. She was a beautiful woman who drew men like bees to pollen, and his reaction was normal. He told himself that, but he didn’t believe it. He had been around beautiful women since Shawna died and he hadn’t had the reaction he was having to Raffaela Granillo.

      “I can’t recall anything that’s happened. I remember the girls. I couldn’t remember their names until they told me. Angelica calls me Mama and Sophie calls me Mama or Aunt, but as time goes by, she’s addressing me as Aunt Rachel less often.”

      He frowned, studying her. The three-year-old would be more likely to know her own mother, yet in the chaos of the crash, and with mother and aunt being twins, the child could be confused. He had heard Sophie call her Mama more than once since he had been with them. Was he rescuing Hector Granillo’s wife or Hector’s unmarried sister-in-law?

      Micah slammed shut that line of questioning. He knew he had damned well better assume he had the wife and mother with him. Certainly there had been a flare of lust or attraction pass between them, but he didn’t want any complications with a married woman who was the mother of two little girls. If she was Rachel, the single nanny, he could deal with that when he was back in Texas. But for now, out here in the wild, he was going to assume he had Raffaela Granillo, the married one.

      He glanced at the bag she carried. It was resting on the ground near his backpack. “Don’t you have identification and pictures in your purse?”

      She shook her head. “That’s the bag with the girls’ things. After I regained consciousness, I gathered what I could find that I thought we might need, but I didn’t find any identification for anyone.”

      He curbed the impulse to swear. She looked worried and uncertain enough without him adding to the problem. “Do you know why neither you nor your twin is wearing any jewelry besides the necklace you had on?”

      She shook her head. “I don’t remember jewelry. I can’t remember my name or my home or my family.” She looked stricken, and he heard the thread of fear in her voice. “If I’m the mother of the girls, I don’t remember their father. I don’t remember a husband.”

      He wanted to groan as he stared at her. Her skin was flawless, her throat slender. Tendrils of auburn hair had escaped her braid, and he battled the urge to tuck one behind her ear. “Usually amnesia doesn’t last long,” he said, realizing hers had already lasted longer than usual. “I think we should assume you’re Raffaela Webster Granillo, mother of Angelica and Sophie.”

      “Raffaela Webster Granillo,” she said frowning.

      “Your father is Atlee Webster. He has an oil company in Houston, Texas. I’m a friend of your brother, Luke.”

      “Why am I in this jungle? Where were we going?”

      “If you’re Raffaela, you’re married to Hector Granillo. He has tin mines and one of the largest textile plants in Bolivia. Your sister Rachel was not married and she was nanny for your two girls, so she was traveling back to La Paz, Bolivia, with you.”

      “How long have I been married?”

      He shrugged. “I don’t have details of your marriage. Your brother hired me to try to rescue any survivors. He didn’t give me your past history.”

      “If you’re good friends with my brother, you should have been a guest at my wedding,” she said, giving him a wary look.