Daddy Woke Up Married

“Nothing. Except…you don’t have a family.” Her voice shook and she didn’t quite meet his gaze.

“Wrong,” he said quietly. “I have you and the baby.”

Instinctively Emily’s hand went to her stomach. He went to her, grateful a supposed old friend from the fire department had sent a pair of pajamas for him to wear. She jumped a little when he put an arm about her waist and led her to the bed.

“Is there something I should know?” he asked, sitting her down beside him. “It can’t be too terrible—you said we practically grew up together.”

“We did.”

Emily fidgeted with the fabric of her sundress. It was pretty and feminine, her smooth shoulders rising above the fitted bodice. Her pregnancy was concealed by the graceful folds of the skirt, but he would have preferred seeing the evidence of their baby. It made him feel alive and potent, very much a man.

He captured her fingers, pressing both their hands against her abdomen. “So?”

“We grew up here in Crockett,” she murmured, her head still bowed. “Your mother and father are dead— you were raised in a foster home next door to us.”

“Who is us?”

“My parents and brothers and sisters.” She cast him a look from the corner of her eye. “You’ great friends with my oldest brother. You practically lived at our place.”

“What about my foster parents, are we close? Do I see them ever?” When Emily didn’t answer right away he kissed the arched curve of her neck. “Don’t protect me, Angel. I have to know.”

“They weren’t unkind,” Emily whispered. “They kept you warm and fed and dry.”

And that’s all. Nick didn’t need her to finish the story for him, he’d already guessed. Whatever affection he’d received as a child must have been from Emily and her own family. No wonder he’d fallen in love with her.

“We’ve never really discussed it,” Emily said, finally lifting her head. “You don’t like to talk about things like that.”

You don’t like to talk about things like that…. Terrific. Now he had another item to add to the growing list of questions about himself. But surely he confided in Emily. She was his wife, and she was also the kind of woman who’d want a close relationship with her husband. Besides, marriage meant partnership, didn’t it?

The sudden intake of her breath grabbed his attention. “What? Is something wrong?”

“Did you feel that?” she asked excitedly. “The baby moved.” She squirmed until she could clasp both her hands over his, holding him to the firm swell of her belly. “It’s the first time I’ve felt anything.”

Awed, Nick realized there was a flutter of movement beneath his palm. A faint, compelling reminder of growing life.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Emily asked, tears welling in her blue eyes.

Uh-oh. Uncertain about the best thing to do, he cuddled her close. He didn’t know the cause—the accident, fear or just plain happiness over their baby. He doubted she cried very often. “It’s all right,” he soothed.

“Drat. I thought I was over this.” She sniffed and gulped. “It’s just hormones. They all attacked at once. I was doing fine until today.”

“I see.”

“I don’t cry, not ever,” she said, her stubborn chin raised high.

“I know.” Nick wiped the damp streaks from her cheeks, and she gave him a wobbly smile. God, she was so desirable. Without even thinking he lifted her face and kissed her.

It was even better than the first time. She was soft and fragrant, still trembling with emotion and excitement. After a long moment she moaned and held him in return. He could easily have forgotten they were in a hospital, but for the emphatic sound of someone clearing their throat.

“Nick…Emily?”

He almost swore, recalling just in time that Emily didn’t like that kind of language around their baby. She must believe in that “influence from the womb” theory of psychology. Nick felt an instant of supreme, absolute frustration—how could he remember a psychology theory and remember nothing tangible about his own wife?

“You have lousy timing, Doc. Again,” he growled. Regretfully, he brushed a last kiss across Emily’s lips before releasing her. “How do I break out of this prison, anyhow?”

Paige Wescott shrugged, her smile growing wider as she watched a flustered Emily straighten her clothing. “A specialist is coming from Seattle to check you over, but you’ll probably be released tomorrow or the next day.”

“How about a temporary release?” he suggested, smoothing his hand over Emily’s shoulder, covered only by a one-inch strap. “You release me tonight, and I’ll come back in the morning. I promise.”

Paige seemed to be having trouble controlling her expression, and Emily glared at her. “I…uh…that’s not such a good idea. You haven’t been cleared for extracurricular activities.”

“Nick, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Emily said. “I don’t think—”

“Wait a minute.” Frowning, Nick ran his thumb over her ring finger—her bare ring finger. “Where’s your wedding ring?”

“Um…at home. I took it off because I was baking cookies.” Emily wanted to die. The truth was, there wasn’t any wedding ring. Nick had wanted to buy one, but she hadn’t let him because it had seemed silly under the circumstances.

“You took it off?”

Emily looked at him carefully, yet she couldn’t be sure if it was reproach or uncertainty in his face. She decided a direct attack was called for, if only to distract him. “Yes. But you don’t wear your ring, either.”

Nick glanced down at his own hand, still frowning. He clenched his fingers into a brief, tight fist. “I’ll have to change that. How long have we been married?”

Emily’s heart speeded up. She knew the answers to his questions, it just seemed so strange to hear Nick asking such things. In some ways he knew her better than anyone else. “A little over five months.”

Five months? Nick whistled to himself, rather pleased with the knowledge. “We sure didn’t waste any time. You must have gotten pregnant right away.”

“Yes, it’s August 21 now,” Dr. Wescott said deliberately. “The baby is due December 30th.”

Nick groaned. “I don’t need to be told the date…again.” He turned to his wife and shrugged. “They keep repeating the date and what town I live in— all kinds of stuff. I think the doc pulled out an old psych textbook and is experimenting on me.”

He gently stroked Emily’s back and rubbed her neck.

“You’ lucky,” Paige retorted. “A hundred years ago we would have just hit you over the head again.” She looked at Emily. “I forgot to tell you to come by my office before you leave. You’ under a lot of stress—I want you to take some extra vitamins for a few days.”

Nick shook his head after the doctor walked out. It hadn’t taken him long to get tired of hospital life. Not that he had much ability to make comparisons in view of his faulty memory.

“Nick…we have to talk,” Emily said. Before he could stop her she slid out of his reach and into a nearby chair.

“Okay. What about?”

Emily pursed her lips, trying to decide the best way to tell Nick that they’d be sleeping separately, no matter when he got home.

“I don’t think we should be intimate. Not right away,” she said quickly. “It would be best…for both of us. Don’t you think?” She cringed at the last question. Giving Nick an option wasn’t what she’d had in mind.

“Anyway,” she continued. “I’m in a awkward stage right now with the baby. Being together…” A wild heat flooded Emily’s face and she faltered. “It’s difficult… and my stomach gets upset so easily. And…and with everything that’s happened, it would be better to take things slowly. You know, get settled into a routine.”

He leaned back on one arm, his face expressionless.

“Nick?”

“Okay. We’ll take things one day at a time,” he agreed calmly—a lot more calmly than she’d really expected. “This has been as tough for you as it is for me. Tougher probably.” Then he smiled, a slow, sexy, hot smile. A smile that infuriated her all the more because it said he was just humoring his overly emotional, pregnant wife. “Don’t worry, it’ll be all right when we get home, Angel.”

I’m not your angel, and I’m trying to save you from major embarrassment, she shouted silently. But her protest did nothing to stop the flow of sensual heat sliding through her veins.

I can’t believe this. I’ve known Nick for more than twenty-five years. I can’t be feeling this way. For years I’ve teased him about his little black book and all those women parading through his life. He was even voted “most likely to escape the ball and chain” by his high school senior class.

Boy, she thought darkly, he’d thought that was funny.

“Think about it,” Nick continued. “You’ just uneasy because I can’t remember us being married. I bet you feel it’s like I’m being unfaithful, even though it’s my own wife I want to make love to.”

Her jaw sagged. That’s it! Time to follow Paige’s advice. Act normally. She’d never let Nick get away with a statement like that if he was himself.

She opened her mouth, “I think they call that kind of idiocy psycho-babble. Honey.”

Okay, Nick decided, he was wrong. That wasn’t the reason Emily wanted to keep him at arm’s length. But he was tired of trying to understand every stray glance, every uncomfortable pause, every peculiar comment people made around him. It was altogether likely they had a wonderful marriage, with no real problems. He had to believe that. Hell, he needed to believe that.

Maybe he’d been a jerk and teased her about getting bigger because of the baby—she’d already hinted that he had a dubious sense of humor. And there was the issue of trust. He didn’t remember their relationship, so she didn’t know how he’d act. It was like asking her to be intimate with a virtual stranger.

“And by the way—” Emily crossed her arms “—I really hate it when you’ condescending. So cut it out.”

Phew. Emily was wonderfully sweet and spicy, but the spicy part was obviously in control tonight. No wonder. He suspected she felt vulnerable and worried and was striking out in self-defense.

“Think of this as the ideal opportunity to expose my faults and correct them,” he suggested.

Emily wanted to throw something at him. Blast. Yet it really wasn’t Nick who was the problem. It was her. She could excuse his behavior because he didn’t remember their friendship. But she didn’t have any excuse for herself. She’d wanted him to kiss her. She’d wanted him to want the baby…

All at once Emily felt the blood drain from her face. Of course. No matter how much she told Nick the baby was hers, that he didn’t need to feel responsible…she had hoped he would share this incredible thing with her.

“I…I have to go see Paige,” she stuttered, getting to her feet and backing toward the door.

Nick stiffened. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? N-nothing.” She rubbed her throat with the back of her hand. “It’s okay. It’s just those hormones, you know?”

“Wait.” Nick caught her at the door. “I’m sorry for teasing. I’d give anything to make this easier on you. You know that, don’t you?”

Emily’s chest rose and fell with shaky breaths. His eyes were so sincere, so filled with loving and latent passion she wanted to melt like warm honey. Only she couldn’t let herself want him. Their friendship was already in jeopardy. When he remembered…could they ever put the pieces back together again?

She escaped as quickly as possible. And because she was already feeling illogical and emotional, she stormed into Paige’s office with all the temperamental energy her battered emotions would allow.

“Thanks a lot,” she snapped.

Paige leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I didn’t give him amnesia.”

“You told me to act like his wife.”

“You are his wife.”

“Legally.”

“Well, legally you signed the admission papers to the hospital. You authorized treatment. You told 911 your husband fell off the roof. You established yourself as the man’s wife in just about every way a woman can.” Her friend’s voice was relentless, refusing to let her deny anything.

Swallowing, Emily leaned against the bookshelf filled with medical references, needing the solid support her world had lost. “What can I do? How do I get out of this?”

Paige’s expression softened with sympathy and understanding—and a little mischief. “I don’t know. But I’ve seen how attentive he can be. Are you sure you want the old Nick back?”

Chapter Three

Are you sure you want the old Nick back?

Muttering beneath her breath, Emily stopped at the door of Nick’s apartment and searched her purse for the key. Trust Paige to raise doubts where none should exist. And the rest of their conversation hadn’t helped, either.

There’s never been anything between us except friendship. I don’t want to lose that.

Even for something better?

Better?

As in love? Emily shook her head, remembering Paige’s earnest question. What a joke. After her first shot at romantic marriage, she knew friendship was the preferable choice.

Nick was always there when she needed him—he’d even come back from a bridge-building project in South America when she’d called and asked if he knew anyone who could break Kevin’s kneecaps. Of course, she hadn’t really been serious about the kneecaps, but he’d come back, anyway, to make sure she stayed out of jail…and that she filed for divorce.

Though when Nick had learned everything, he’d blown a gasket and almost ended up with his own assault charge. Emily shivered as she remember the cold rage in his eyes and the way he’d stood between her and Kevin on the courthouse steps…Kevin and his smarmy, “Sorry ‘bout things, babe, can’t we try again?”

Try again? He hadn’t tried in the first place, he’d just wanted her to come back to the advertising firm where they’d both worked and to keep giving him her ideas.

“Hello, gorgeous,” a man’s voice said from behind her. “I think Nick’s out of town, but I’m available.”

Another smarmy type. Yuck.

“I’m not.” She found the key and jammed it into the lock before turning so that her full profile was visible. The slick yuppie’s eyes widened as he observed her tummy. He stuttered an apology and speedily backed into his own apartment.

“Good,” Emily muttered. She swung the door open and wrinkled her nose. She always expected Nick’s place to smell like Seattle—a kind of piney, salty fragrance, mixed with the inevitable scent of a city. But it didn’t It just smelled dead. Probably because he was out of town so much of the time.

She preferred Crockett, which clung to the western edge of Puget Sound like a barnacle in the midst of a sprawling sea of tide pools. No one ever paid much attention to Crockett, which was fine, because Crockett didn’t care. Who needed rising real estate costs, minimalls and factory outlet stores? You could get all that in Seattle, which was only a short drive and ferry ride away.

The specialist had arrived early that morning, clucked and examined Nick to the absolute limit of his annoyance. The doctor had decided there wasn’t anything organically wrong causing the memory block, concurring with the selective amnesia theory. But he fancied things up by calling it “dissociative amnesia.” And, without necessarily agreeing with Paige Wescott’s treatment, he’d said they would have to continue letting Nick believe he had a typical marriage for the time being. Which didn’t surprise Emily, since the good doctor obviously had some trouble believing the truth himself.

Apparently amnesia was unpredictable and every case was different. Nobody completely agreed on how to treat the condition, but everybody was fascinated by it.

“Blast,” she muttered as she began gathering Nick’s belongings.

Clothes for Nick weren’t a big problem. He subscribed to a style best described as “casual” and “more casual.” She stuffed a bunch of jeans, shirts and underwear into a duffel bag. Those—with the clothing he always kept in Crockett—would be plenty.

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