Her Forgotten Husband

Garrick had had the same feeling when she’d been unconscious, as if he was speeding her recovery merely by touching her and remaining by her side. She’d become skittish and uncertain once she’d woken, but now the connection was back, and thank goodness. It gave him hope for the future.

Garrick found himself wishing her memory would take a while to return. He knew it was a foolish, selfish thought, but he couldn’t stop it. He wanted the chance to build a new intimacy between them, to make their marriage a strong and fulfilling one—and not just a passionless arrangement.

Samantha squeezed his hand. “Who am I, Garrick? Where do I live? What do I do?” She smiled ruefully. “Why am I such a bad driver?”

He laughed softly. She had a lot of courage, he thought, to make a joke—even a feeble one—when her life was in chaos. “You’re not a bad driver,” he assured her.

“I hit a tree. You told me so yourself. How much worse could I be?”

Garrick looked down at her, wishing he knew how to reply. He could have told her she’d been distraught, that her mental state had destroyed her concentration. But he didn’t. If he told her everything about her accident, about the convoluted events that had led up to it, they’d be right back where they’d been two days ago.

“Well?” she said. “Aren’t you going to tell me anything?”

He studied her for a long moment. “You’re definitely not a bad driver. What else would you like to know?”

“How long ago did we meet?”

“Ten years.”

She considered this. “So it wasn’t a whirlwind courtship.”

“No.” It wasn’t a courtship at all, really, but she didn’t need to know that right now.

“How long have we been married?”

Garrick groaned inwardly. These probably seemed like simple questions to her, but they were headed in a difficult direction. “Two months,” he admitted.

She was clearly shocked. “That’s all? We certainly took our own sweet time, didn’t we? Why the delay?”

“You were only fifteen when I met you,” he pointed out, unable to keep from smiling. She had no way of knowing how attracted he’d been, even back then.

“And how old were you?”

“Twenty.”

“Ah…” she said, a look of dawning comprehension on her face. “Let me see. I must have fallen in love with you on the spot. I can just picture it—the shy girl and the handsome older man. How sweet.” She paused, her brown eyes wistful. “Was I shy?”

“Yes, you were shy.” He remembered their first meeting as clearly as if it were yesterday. He and Warren had both come home from college for the winter holidays. Their younger sister Jenny had rushed down the stairs to greet them, eager to introduce her new friend. Samantha had followed with tentative steps.

Garrick had heard all about Samantha in Jenny’s letters and been prepared to like her. He had not been prepared, however, for the jolt of desire that swept through him at the sight of her blossoming figure and ethereal brown eyes. She was fifteen, he’d reminded himself sharply. A child.

Someday, he’d thought as he’d pushed back his desire, she would be grown up, a woman far more beautiful than the child in front of him. He would wait, and the waiting would make it all the more pleasurable in the end.

But looking into her eyes and seeing the barely concealed hero worship in them had been difficult indeed.

“You must have been amused by my crush,” she said.

“Not at all,” he responded truthfully.

“Of course not.” She smiled. “You probably didn’t notice I was madly in love with you. I was fifteen, you said? You probably didn’t even know I was alive.”

Of course he’d known. But Garrick didn’t relish reliving that part of the past any more than necessary. “Anything else you’d like me to tell you?” he asked, hoping to shift the conversation to safer topics.

She thought for a moment, tapping her chin in that adorable way she had. “Where’d we go on our honeymoon? Maybe it will help me remember.”

He hesitated. “We stayed here in town.”

“Really? No trip to Hawaii or Mexico? Was that my choice or yours?”

“Both of ours.”

Samantha frowned. “Isn’t this strange? I can remember about Hawaii and Mexico, but I don’t know if I’ve been to either one or if I learned about them from TV.”

“You’ve been to Mexico, not Hawaii,” Garrick said.

“With you?”

“With Jenny.”

“Who’s Jenny?”

“Your best friend. My sister.”

“Oh.” She looked a little depressed. “I can’t believe I don’t remember my own best friend.”

“It’s okay, Sam. I’m sure she’ll understand. She’d be here right now, by the way, but she’s taking an exam.”

Samantha gave him a questioning look.

“Law school,” he explained. “She’s finishing her second year.” He decided he’d given Samantha enough information to absorb for one night. “How’s your headache?”

She closed her eyes briefly. “Better, but the medication they gave me isn’t very strong. I guess they didn’t want to hurt the baby.” As if suddenly reminded of the new life growing inside her, she cupped a hand to her abdomen. She grinned at him, her eyes alight. “We sure got started on our family fast, didn’t we?”

Garrick grimaced. Now what the hell was he supposed to say to that?

Chapter Two

He racked his brains for the right response.

It didn’t come.

If he told Samantha the truth about the baby’s conception… Well, he didn’t know how she’d react. But after her romanticized version of their relationship, she was sure to be upset.

Samantha continued, unaware of his inner turmoil. “After ten years of being madly in love with you, I couldn’t wait to start a family, right? Or was it just because you’re, er, extremely virile…? No point going to Hawaii if you’re gonna spend the whole week inside the hotel room, anyway, eh?”

“I guess not,” he said, feeling trapped. He was pretty damn close to lying by omission at this point.

He should just tell her everything. That was the honorable thing to do. But when he opened his mouth, no words came out. He just stared at her beautiful features, which were so much more happy and relaxed than they’d been twenty minutes ago, and couldn’t bring himself to burst her bubble.

“Two months,” Samantha continued in wonderment. “I bet I never thought I’d get pregnant that quickly. Did you?”

“Uh, not exactly.”

She paused, tapping her chin. “Is that why we fought?”

“Why we fought?” he repeated.

“Yes. When I woke up, you asked if I was still angry. So we must have had a fight, right? Was it about the baby?”

Garrick nodded reluctantly. She might have lost her memory, but her instincts were right on. They had been fighting about the baby right before she drove off. But it wasn’t what she thought.

Samantha’s brows drew together. “You don’t want the baby, do you?” She shut her eyes. “Oh, gosh, no wonder I got amnesia. I don’t want to remember that you don’t want our baby!”

“Sam,” he said, leaning forward, “I want this baby, and I have since the moment you told me you were pregnant. Nothing could make me give it up.” And it was the truth. Despite everything, he already loved the child she carried.

“Then why were we fighting?”

He sighed. “I can’t explain that right now. I don’t even understand it myself. It was all a big mistake, which you’ll realize when you’re better.”

“You want the baby?”

“Yes, I want the baby.”

Samantha sank back against the cushions, an expression of relief on her face. She folded her hands over her belly. “The doctor said it’s May,” she mused. “So am I going to give birth in December?”

Oh, good Lord. She’d always been too mathematical. “November, actually.”

Her eyes widened. “November?”

“Early November,” he said, feeling as if he’d just stepped off the edge of a precipice.

She stared at him. “Garrick, exactly how long have I been pregnant?”

“About twelve weeks,” he admitted.

“Oh…Oh, no.” She shook her head slowly. “You married me because I got pregnant, didn’t you?”

How could something be true and yet so completely false? He remembered how quickly his shock at her pregnancy had shifted to elation—and how he’d hated himself for that weakness. He’d had to force himself not to blurt his proposal on the spot, but to pull back behind a screen of disinterest, treating the situation as he might treat a sensitive business deal. “Not exactly.”

“Then why?”

“I married you,” he said, “because I thought we had a good chance of being happy together.”

They did. Ten years of friendship was the strongest basis for marriage he could imagine.

“And because you got me pregnant,” Samantha said.

“Your pregnancy did have something to do with it,” he admitted.

She looked disappointed. “You don’t love me?”

If she only knew what she was saying! But he couldn’t tell her the truth. Even amnesia wasn’t enough to erase the past ten years.

Garrick kept the emotion from his voice, just as he’d done when he’d proposed. “Love isn’t always the most important thing, Sam…Sometimes friendship can be enough.”

He didn’t love her.

Sure, he’d married her and wanted their baby, but he didn’t love her. He’d spent the whole night by her side, but he didn’t love her.

It wasn’t right, Samantha thought the next morning as Garrick checked her out of the hospital. Something felt wrong. She might not remember who she was, but she knew, just knew, she wouldn’t have wanted a loveless marriage.

So why had she married him? Only because she was pregnant? That didn’t make sense. She wouldn’t have slept with him unless…

She loved him. She loved him. Obviously the adolescent love she’d imagined last night had been all too real.

But he hadn’t loved her back.

Had she known? Had she willingly settled for a one-way marriage in order to be with her childhood crush? Or had she thought their feelings were mutual? Maybe she’d found out he didn’t love her, and that was what they’d fought about, what had made her such a terrible driver the night of her accident.

Maybe he’d let her think he loved her to get her to have a fling, but then it had backfired when she’d gotten pregnant.

She considered Garrick as he helped her into his dark green sedan, his touch warm and reassuring on her arm. He radiated confidence, strength and purpose. He didn’t seem like the devious type, she thought, the type to take advantage of a young girl’s crush.

Which left a distressing alternative. Maybe she’d taken advantage of him.

Samantha watched Garrick circle to the driver’s side, his dark hair lifting in the wind. Today he wore a blue chambray shirt and casual khaki chinos. He looked every bit as sexy as he had last night, and again she felt the pull of attraction and desire. He was an incredibly handsome man.

Could she have done it?

She didn’t want to face the possibility, but she couldn’t ignore it: she was pregnant, and he’d admitted that had something to do with their marriage. So had she set out to seduce him? Had she planned to get pregnant to entrap him?

If she had, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to regain her memory.

Garrick pulled out of the hospital complex and joined the flow of traffic down the hill. “Feeling okay?” he asked her. “Does it upset you to be in a car?”

Samantha shook her head, unable to voice her troubled thoughts. Deliberately she smiled and relaxed her grip on her purse. “I’m fine,” she said. “The car doesn’t bother me at all.”

It was true, too. Garrick’s car felt comfortable, solid and sturdy, and he drove with competent ease. She wondered how many times she’d ridden in it with him.

Reaching the bottom of the hill, they drove along a few city streets and then uphill again on a steep, curvy road. The trees arching over the roadway were thick with spring leaves, and warm air swept in through the open window. They passed large houses set back from the road.

Nothing was familiar.

“Have I been on this road before?”

He glanced over at her. “It’s the quickest route from your old apartment to the house. You probably drove it when you came to visit Jenny.”

“Oh. Where was my apartment?”

“Across the river, about fifteen minutes from here.”

“Did I live there until we got married?”

He nodded. “We can go see it sometime, if you’d like. Maybe it will spark a memory.”

And maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe her previous life would always remain a total blank, the good memories gone along with the bad.

She wondered suddenly where they’d made love that first time, when she’d seduced him. Had she lured him back to her apartment under false pretenses, or had she brazenly invited herself into his bed? Maybe she’d attacked him at his office, or in a dumpy motel room. She wondered whether she had good memories of that hour in his arms, or bad.

Looking at Garrick’s virile male form on the leather seat beside her, at his capable hands on the steering wheel, Samantha was pretty sure the memories were good. At least the ones of their lovemaking.

“Samantha?”

She flushed. “Sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking. We can go by the apartment tomorrow if you think it would help.”

“Why don’t we see how you’re feeling? You may need a few days’ rest.”

Rest wasn’t high on Samantha’s list of priorities, even though she knew her body needed it. She didn’t want to spend long hours alone in a house she didn’t remember, surrounded by possessions that didn’t rekindle any of her lost memories. She couldn’t imagine anything more lonely.

It would be better to get a good night’s sleep and go to work in the morning, even though Dr. Hernandez had said she shouldn’t.

She caught herself. How could she go to work? She didn’t know where she worked, much less what she did. And how would she remember what to do? For that matter, she couldn’t even be sure she was employed!

“Do I have a job?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What do I do?”

“You’re the assistant marketing director of an office supply firm.”

“Oh.” Samantha took a moment to digest this. What did such a position entail? It sounded strange and intimidating, as if she were hearing about someone else’s job rather than her own.

She took stock of her clothes—a pair of wheatcolored jeans and a plain white T-shirt, which Garrick had brought her that morning. It didn’t look like the sort of outfit an assistant marketing director would wear.

“Are you sure I don’t deliver pizzas or rent out movies at the video store?”

He smiled. “No, you’re definitely in marketing, and you’re very good at your job.”

“I don’t remember anything about it.”

“You will,” he replied. “In any case, they’ve got you covered. You’d planned an extended maternity leave, and they’d already started to prepare for your absence. This is a little sooner than expected, of course, but there’s no rush to get back before your memory returns.”

“If it ever does,” she muttered.

Garrick took a hand from the steering wheel and placed it on her knee. The gesture was meant to comfort, she knew, but its effect was less than soothing. The warmth of him burned through the fabric of her jeans, shooting sparks of awareness up her body.

Disturbed she could be so affected by a man she knew didn’t love her, Samantha wanted to pull away.

Garrick spared her the effort. He lifted his hand quickly, frowning as if he, too, was bothered by the casual contact.

“Don’t worry,” he said after a moment. “Whatever happens, you’ll be able to deal with it. You’ve always been levelheaded, Samantha.”

For some reason this disappointed her. The way he said it made her sound almost boring. “Always?”

He studied her for a long moment. “No, not always… I wouldn’t have married you if you didn’t have an adventurous streak.”

Garrick’s meaning was clear enough. He might as well have said straight out that he’d only married her because she’d gotten pregnant. The only surprising thing was that his voice wasn’t bitter. It was almost as if he didn’t mind being trapped into marrying her.

She must have misinterpreted his tone, she decided. Perhaps her concussion had affected her perception. Or perhaps it was the effects of carrying the baby.

The baby. Samantha gazed down at her abdomen.

Garrick had said he wanted the baby, and she believed him. But would he love her or him, even though he didn’t love Samantha? A child needed a lot of attention and nurturing, and if Garrick acted simply out of a sense of duty, surely the child would know. And worse, if he treated his offspring as some sort of unwelcome houseguest, a burden that had been thrust on him by a conniving mother, she wouldn’t be able to stand it.

“So,” she said, eager to distract herself from her unpleasant thoughts, “I’m in marketing. What do you do?”

“I’m the president of an office supply firm.”

She looked over at him. “The same firm?”

Garrick nodded. “The same firm.” He turned the car off the road and drove through a wrought iron gate that stood between two stone pillars flanked by a tall, dense hedge. “We’re here,” he announced.

They swept down a long drive, rounded a curve, and then the house came into sight.

Samantha swallowed. The house was huge—far larger than any of the ones they’d passed on the way up. Its style looked Georgian, she thought—not knowing how she could remember architecture when she didn’t even know her own name—with alternating dark and light red bricks and a massive portico entrance framed by imposing columns. The lawn in front of the house was landscaped with clipped hedges and lush beds of flowers, and a low balustrade bordered the walk.

Samantha clutched her purse full of items she didn’t recognize. Even without her memory she knew the house in front of her belonged to a very wealthy family.

And she knew, with the same awful certainty, that she hadn’t trapped Garrick Randall into marriage because she’d loved him.

She’d done it for the money.

Hearing the low purr of her brother’s car in the driveway, Jenny Randall surveyed her handiwork before leaving Samantha’s bedroom.

Everything was ready.

The photo of Samantha and Garrick looked right at home on the nightstand. Samantha was a pretty sixteen, Garrick a debonair twenty-one. His arm lay draped across her shoulder and his expression was playful. Samantha was smiling for the photographer. To someone who didn’t know better, it was a sweet picture that hinted at deeper feelings on the part of both people.

And Samantha didn’t know better—not anymore.

There was a similar photo on Garrick’s nightstand, taken a few years later. Jenny had dug both pictures out of her album the night before, after Garrick had called and told her about Samantha’s amnesia.

Amnesia—what a stroke of luck!

Jenny glanced at the drawer, which now held a half-empty bottle of scented massage oil. She’d poured out the other half to make it look well used, to give an impression of ongoing eroticism.

She grinned to herself.

Best of all was the lingerie. Samantha’s dresser now overflowed with silk and lace creations—washed once to take away the new look—instead of the sturdy cotton undies Samantha had favored before her accident. Jenny had also packed a wickedly tempting bra and panty set with the clothes she’d sent to the hospital with Garrick that morning, so the conversion would be complete.

Many of the items would have to be put aside as the baby grew, but Jenny had bought several filmy, flowing chemises and nightgowns that would continue to fit. Samantha would look sexy and desirable all the way through her pregnancy, if Jenny had any say in the matter.

She glanced around the room one more time to see if she’d missed anything. Yes, the connecting door. She crossed the room and unlatched the door leading to Garrick’s room, propping it open with a heavy doorstop.

It wasn’t fair of her to do this, of course. But the doctor had said Samantha’s memory might not return for weeks or months—plenty of time for a whole new set of memories to be formed.

And they would. Garrick and Samantha were married now, and Jenny intended them to stay that way. The baby and their wedding were the only good things to come out of the past few months, which had been so difficult for everyone. It was time for some healing, for some much-deserved happiness.

Satisfied with her efforts, Jenny headed downstairs to greet her best friend.

Samantha sat in Garrick’s car, frozen, staring up at the huge house. Her stomach felt knotted and tense. “I live here?”

“We both do,” Garrick said. “Along with Jenny and Beth—that’s our mother—and Hugh.” He got out of the car and opened her door.

“Who’s Hugh? Your father?”

Shaking his head, Garrick helped her up the walkway to the front steps. “Dad died several years ago. Hugh is the, er, housekeeper—for lack of a better word. He hates to be called the butler.”

“I see…. So we all live here together? Like on Dynasty or something?”

Garrick smiled. “We don’t get in each other’s way much. It’s a good-size house.”

Which was exactly what bothered her. “I noticed,” she murmured, grimacing.

“Here’s Hugh at the door.”

Samantha looked up to see the strangest housekeeper imaginable. At least seven feet tall and two hundred and fifty pounds, the man at the top of the steps wore a T-shirt, black jeans and square-toed motorcycle boots. His salt-and-pepper hair was tied back with a leather thong, and he looked as if he ate small children for breakfast.

Her hands strayed protectively to her abdomen.

Hugh’s eyes caught the movement. “Morning sickness? Should I make a pot of tea?” His gruff, Hell’s Angels voice was all concerned solicitude.

Samantha glanced at Garrick.

He chuckled, as if amused by her trepidation. “He won’t bite, Sam.”

She felt embarrassed. “Thank you, Hugh, but I’m fine. I haven’t had any morning sickness at all.” Even last night’s headache had subsided.

“Sorry, Hugh.” Garrick turned to Samantha. “He wants to try a ginger tea recipe he found in one of our baby books, but you haven’t been ill yet—much to his disappointment.”

The big, mean-looking housekeeper clucked his tongue as he ushered them inside. “Don’t you believe him, Samantha. I’m much happier to have you in perfect health. Welcome home, by the way.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “Pregnancy does seem to agree with me. I guess it runs in the family, because my mother didn’t get sick when she had me, either—” She stopped, surprised.

Hugh’s craggy features softened. “Your memory’s already returning, I see.”

Garrick looked oddly uncomfortable, but said in a calm enough voice, “How much do you remember?”

“I’m not sure. I think I saw her face for a moment. Her skin was soft and…and she used to wear combs in her hair….” Samantha closed her eyes, grasping at the images, but they’d scattered like dust motes blown from a windowsill. “That’s all. Except—she’s passed away, hasn’t she?”

Gently Garrick nodded. “Both of your parents.”

Samantha felt a strange sadness knowing she’d never see them again, knowing they’d never meet their grandchild—strange because, though she felt the emotions, she still couldn’t remember them.

Hugh gave her a look of sympathy.

At that moment footsteps sounded from above, and they all turned their heads toward the sweeping staircase.

“Samantha? Is that you?” A tall, attractive brunette descended the steps, her blue eyes sparkling. “You’re home!”

Samantha blinked. Something about the moment seemed familiar, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. It certainly wasn’t the sight of the young woman’s face, which she recognized no more than Garrick’s or Hugh’s. “Are you Jenny?” she asked.