Читать книгу A Husband To Remember - Lisa Jackson - Страница 8

“So she wakes up!” the doctor said, poking his head into Nikki’s hospital room. Short and round, with a wide smile, dark eyes and a horseshoe of gray hair, he strode into the room with the air of a man in charge. “Buenos días, you are the sleeping beauty, sí?”

Nikki felt anything but beautiful. Her entire body ached and she knew her face was scratched and bruised. “Buenos días,” she murmured, glad to finally see someone who might be able to help her.

The doctor picked up her chart from its cradle at the foot of the bed and scanned the page. His lab coat, a size too small, strained around his belly, and when he looked up and grinned a glimmer of gold surrounded a few of his teeth. Small, wire-rimmed glasses were perched on his flat nose. “I’m Dr. Padillo,” he said as he dropped the chart and moved in close with his penlight, carefully peeling back Nikki’s eyelid and shining the tiny beam in her eye. “¿Qué tal se siente hoy?”

“Pardon?”

“She doesn’t speak Spanish.” Trent’s voice caused her to stiffen slightly.

With the small beam blinding her, Nikki couldn’t see Trent, but she sensed that he hadn’t moved from his post near the window. He’d spent hours sitting on the ledge or restlessly pacing near the foot of the bed.

“Dr. Padillo asked how you were feeling today.” As the penlight snapped off she caught a glimpse of him, leaning against the sill, one hip thrown out at a sexy angle.

“The truth?” Nikki asked, blinking.

“Nothing but,” Trent said.

“Like I was ground up into hamburger.”

Padillo’s eyebrows shot up and he removed his glasses. “¿Cómo?”

Trent said something in quick Spanish and the doctor smiled as he polished the lenses of his wire-rims with the corner of his lab coat. He slid his spectacles back onto the bridge of his nose. “So you have not lost your sense of humor, eh?”

“Just my memory.”

“Is this right?” he asked Trent and Nikki was more than a little rankled. It wasn’t Trent’s memory that was missing, it was hers, and she resented the two men discussing her.

“Yes, it’s right,” she said a little angrily.

Scowling, Padillo checked her other eye, clicked off his light and glanced at Trent, who had shoved himself upright and was standing in her line of vision. His features were stern and the air of impatience about him hadn’t disappeared. Dr. Padillo rubbed his chin. “You are a very lucky woman, Señora McKenzie. We were all worried about you. Especially your husband.”

“Worried sick,” Trent added, and Nikki thought she heard a trace of mockery in his voice. His cool gaze flicked to her before returning to the doctor.

Shifting on the bed, she grimaced against a sudden pain in her leg. “I feel like I broke every bone in my body.”

Padillo smiled a bit, not certain that she was joking. “The bones—they are fine. And except for your—” he glanced at Trent “—tobillo.”

“Your ankle. It’s sprained but not broken,” Trent told her, though she would rather have heard the news from the doctor himself. The thought of Trent and Padillo discussing her injuries or anything else about her made her stomach begin to knot in dread.

“Sí. The ankle, it is swollen, but lucky not to be broken.”

She supposed she should believe him, but lying in the hospital bed, her body aching, Trent acting as her husband or jailer, she felt anything but lucky.

“Your muscles are sore and you have the cuts and scrapes—contusions. Lacerations. You will be—” he hesitated.

“Black and blue?” Trent supplied.

Doctor Padillo grinned. “Sí. Bruised. But you will live, I think.” His dark eyes twinkled as he touched her lightly on the arms and neck, lifting her hospital gown to expose more of her skin as he eyed the abrasions she could feel on her abdomen and back. “This must be kept clean and covered with antibiotic cream so that she heals and does not get the infection,” he told Trent. To underscore his meaning, he pointed at a scrape that ran beneath her right arm and the side of her ribs, and the air touched the side of her breast.

A tide of embarrassment washed up her face and neck, which was ridiculous if Trent really was her husband. Surely he’d seen her dressed in much less than the hospital gown. Her breasts weren’t something new to him. Yet she was grateful when the thin cotton dropped over her side and afforded her a little bit of modesty.

The headache that had been with her most of the time she was awake started thundering again and hurt all over. Her entire right side was sore and she was conscious of the throbbing in her ankle. Padillo listened to her heartbeat through a stethoscope and asked her to show him that she could make a fist and sit up. She did as she was bid, then hazarded a glance in Trent’s direction, hoping that he had the decency to stare out the window, but his eyes were trained on her as if he had every right to watch as the doctor examined her.

“Ooh!” she cried when Padillo touched her right foot.

The doctor frowned slightly. “Tiene dolor aquí.”

“What?”

“He says you have a pain there—in your foot.”

“Mucho pain,” she said, gritting her teeth.

“Sí.” Padillo placed the sheet and woven blanket over her body again. “It will be...tender for a few days, but should be able to carry your weight by the end of the week.” Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat, he added, “We were wondering if you were ever going to wake up.”

“How long was I—?”

“You were in a coma for six days,” Trent said, and from the looks of his jaw he hadn’t shaved the entire time she’d been under. She supposed that it was testament to his undying love that he’d spent the better part of a week keeping his vigil, and yet there was something about him that seemed almost predatory.

Again she looked at his harsh features, trying to find some hint in her memory of the rugged planes of his face. Surely if she’d married him, loved him, slept in the same bed with him, she would recall something about him. She bit down on her lip as he returned her stare, his eyes an opaque blue that gave no hint of his emotions. Desperation put a stranglehold on her heart.

“The nurse will give you medication for the pain,” Dr. Padillo said, making notes on her chart before resting his hip on her bed. “Tell me about the—Dios,” he muttered, snapping his fingers.

“Amnesia,” Trent supplied.

“Sí. Have you any memory?”

Nikki glanced from the doctor to Trent and back again. She needed time alone with the doctor and yet Trent wasn’t about to leave. “Can we speak privately?” she asked, and Padillo’s brows drew together.

“We are alone....” He glanced up at Trent, his furrowed expression showing concern.

“Please.”

“But your husband—”

“Please, Doctor. It’s important!” She wrapped her fingers into the starched fabric of his white jacket.

“It’s probably a good idea,” Trent said with a nonchalant shrug. As if he had nothing to hide. “She’s a little confused right now. Maybe you can straighten things out for her and help her remember.”

I’m not confused about you, she thought, but bit hard on her tongue, because the truth was, she didn’t know a thing about herself.

Trent let his fingers slide along the bottom rail of the hospital bed. “I’ll be in the hall if you need me.” As he left the room, his bootheels ringing softly, he closed the door behind him, and Nikki let out a long sigh.

“That man is not my husband,” she asserted as firmly as she could.

“He’s not?” The doctor’s eyebrows raised skeptically, and he eyed Nikki as if she’d truly lost her mind.

“I—I’m sure of it.”

“Your memory. It has come back?”

“No, but...” Oh, this was hopeless! She clenched a fist in frustration, and pain shot up her arm. “I would remember him. I know it!” Unbidden, hot, wet tears touched the back of her eyelids, but she refused to cry.

Dr. Padillo patted her shoulder. “These things, they take time.”

“But I would remember the man I married.”

“As you remember the rest of your family?”

She didn’t answer. The haze that was her past refused to crystallize and she was left with dark shadows and vague feelings, nothing solid.

“Your home? A pet? Your job? You remember any of these things?”

She closed her eyes and fought the tears building behind her swollen lids. She remembered so little and yet she felt like she was trapped, like an insect caught in the sticky web of a spider, vulnerable and weak. She stared at the IV tube draining into her arm, the iron sides of the bed, the gauze on her arm and the tiny room—her prison until she could walk again.

If only she could remember! Why was Trent posted like a wary guard in her room day and night? Surely he trusted the hospital staff to take care of her. Or was his concern of a different nature? Was he afraid she might escape?

She closed her eyes as the questions pounded at her brain. Why the devil was she on this little island off the coast of Venezuela? And why in God’s name wouldn’t this doctor believe her? There had to be a way to convince him!

“I’ve never set eyes on Trent McKenzie until I woke up a little while ago.”

“See! That is wrong. He is the one who brought you to the hospital.” Padillo smiled reassuringly. “Give it some time, Señora McKenzie. You Americans. Always so in a hurry.”

“Please, call me Nikki.”

“Nikki, then. Do not rush this,” Doctor Padillo said gently. “You have been...lucky. The accident could have been much worse.”

The tone of his voice caught her attention, and for the first time she wondered how she’d become so battered. “What happened to me?” she asked, looking up at him and trying to ignore the horrible feeling that the man to whom this doctor was going to release her was inherently dangerous.

“I’ve talked to your husband as well as the policía. They concur. You and Señor McKenzie were walking along the hills by the mission. These hills, they can be very...es-carpado... uh, sharp...no—”

“Steep,” she supplied, her nightmare becoming vivid again. The jagged cliffs. The roaring sea. The dizzying heights and the mission with its crumbling bell tower.

“Sí. Steep. The path you were on was narrow, near the cliffs, and you stumbled, lost your footing and fell over the edge. Fortunately, you landed on a...saliente—Dios... you call it a...”

“A ledge,” Trent supplied as he opened the door and heard the tail end of the discussion. His gaze was pinned to Nikki’s and his mouth was a thin grim line. “You slid over the side and landed on a ledge that jutted beneath the edge of the cliff. If you’d rolled another two feet, you would have fallen over a hundred feet into the sea.”

Her body jarred as she remembered pitching in the air. So the nightmare was real. Oh, God, help me! Her throat closed in fear, but she managed to whisper hoarsely, “And you saved me?”

His lips tightened a little. “I couldn’t save you from falling over the edge—I was already at the mission. But I heard you scream.” His jaw clenched. “I followed the sound and ran back to the spot where you’d fallen. Fortunately I could climb down and carry you back.”

Was he lying? “How did you get down to me?”

“It was tricky,” he admitted as he rolled up the sleeve of a cotton work shirt. “But I’ve climbed mountains.”

“So you didn’t see me fall?”

His eyes locked with hers, and he hesitated for a fraction of an instant. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone on ahead.”

Nikki wasn’t convinced he was telling the truth, but the pain in her body was intense and she knew arguing with these two men was useless. Could Trent possibly be her savior as he claimed, or had he been the man chasing her, the man who pushed her over the edge? But if so, why would he have brought her back for medical care? Oh, Lord, her brain hurt.

Shuddering, she thought about her nightmare, her feet losing their purchase on the rocky trail, her body pitching toward the rocky shore hundreds of feet below the ridge. Deep in her heart she’d expected that the horrid dream was real, but she shivered with a fear as cold as the bottom of the sea. She hadn’t fallen over the edge, she’d been pushed, chased by someone...someone darkly evil. Her gaze moved to Trent’s face, so severe and determined. It was hard to imagine that he had saved her from death.... She almost cried out, but forced the tremors in her body to subside. She couldn’t show any sign of weakness to this stranger who claimed to be her husband, and she had to come up with a plan, a way to escape the hospital and find out who she was. Oh, God, if her head didn’t ache so badly, if she could bear weight on her ankle, she’d find a way to uncover the truth.

A shadow crossed her face as Trent bent over the bed. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he promised, his breath fanning her face. He kissed her lightly on the lips and there was a warmth in the feel of his mouth against hers that caused her heart to trip. Was it possible that she’d fallen in love with this brash, uncompromising man? Nikki couldn’t remember anything about her past, but she didn’t believe for a second that she would marry a man so damned intimidating, a man who just by his mere presence seemed destined to dominate everyone he met. Certainly she would have chosen a kinder, wiser individual—a thinking man.

His lips moved against hers, and it was all Nikki could do to lay stiffly and unresponsively on the bed. Trent lifted his head and, straightening, smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt as he winked at her. The smile curving his lips was positively wicked—as if he and she shared some dark, indecent secret. He patted the edge of the bed, then walked with the doctor out of the room.

Silently fuming, Nikki thought of a million ways to strangle him. His little show for the doctor was just an act. Or was it? There was no passion in this kiss, not like the one before, and yet she’d felt a spark of emotion, a tenderness she couldn’t equate with Trent McKenzie or whoever the hell he was. She ground her teeth in frustration and willed her memory to surface, but only vague images drifted into her mind. She remembered a grassy field and riding a horse—no, a pony, a spotted pony. She’d been bareback. A dog had trailed after the chubby little horse, nearly hidden in the tall grass. There had been apple trees—an old orchard, perhaps—in the corner of the field and a copse of oak and fir trees on the other side of the fence line.

Had the pony been hers? She imagined cattle grazing on the stubble in the next field, but the image turned cloudy and she was left with an emptiness that she couldn’t fill. “Damn it all,” she muttered as she tried and failed to summon any other thoughts about her past.

What about Trent? Your husband? Any memory of him at all eluded her completely.

She shifted on the wrinkled sheets and sucked in her breath at the sharp pain at her ankle. From the hallway, she heard Trent and Dr. Padillo, talking softly in the flowing cadences of Spanish. Of course they were discussing her, but she couldn’t hear or understand them. Frustrated, she tried to sit up, but fell back against the pillows. If only she could climb out of this bed, march down to the police station, or the airport, or the American embassy, if there was one on this godforsaken island, and demand to know who she was and how she got here.

Tears threatened, and she stared at the crucifix on the wall. “Give me strength,” she whispered as Nurse Vásquez returned with her medication. She thought of refusing the drugs, knowing she needed a clear mind, but the pain was too great and she was thankful for the tide of sleep the tiny pills would bring her. She swallowed the sedative eagerly, waiting for the pain to slowly erode and drowsiness to overcome her. Closing her eyes, an old commercial message wafted through her brain. Calgon, take me away...

When she woke up...then she’d try to remember.

* * *

“I want her released as soon as possible.” Trent eyed the little man who was the most highly recommended doctor on the island. However, there couldn’t have been more than three physicians on Salvaje, so Trent wasn’t going to linger here, hoping this man knew what he was doing. Too much was at stake.

“But you have time...you are on your honeymoon.” With a knowing grin, Padillo patted Trent’s arm. “Be patient.”

“We have to get back to the States.”

“Why must you leave so soon?”

“We’d only planned to stay a week,” Trent explained, trying to keep his temper in check. He was used to doing things his own way. Having Nikki in the local hospital was inconvenient. Damned inconvenient. Probably even dangerous. Don’t get paranoid, he told himself, but he hadn’t slept much in five nights and he was strung tighter than a bowstring. Right now, he wanted to shake some sense into the little doctor, to convince Padillo to release Nikki at that very moment, but he couldn’t tip his hand. Not yet.

“Salvaje is a beautiful place. You should stay here. Enjoy the climate,” Doctor Padillo was saying as a nurse at the lobby waved at him in an attempt to get his attention. “Your wife...she has not seen much of the island.”

“We can come back.”

“You Americans,” the doctor said, clucking his tongue. “Always in a rush.”

If you only knew.

“I can release her within three days,” Padillo said, though by the gathering of lines between his flat black brows it was obvious to Trent that the doctor wasn’t happy about his decision. “But there are only a few flights to America.”

“We’ll find one.”

“Doctor—” the nurse called, and Padillo waved her away, as if she were a bothersome insect.

“Then I’ll have the necessary papers ready to sign.”

“Good. Oh, and while you’re at it, I’ll need my wife’s purse and personal belongings.”

“Today?”

“Sí. I think she’d like to look through it before she goes home.”

“If it is lost, the hospital cannot be responsible—”

“Don’t worry,” Trent said, thinking of the pretty woman with the battered face as she lay in a hospital bed a few doors down the dark corridor. “Just give me her belongings. I’ll sign a release for everything.”

* * *

Nikki wasn’t sure of the time. She’d slept so much, she couldn’t keep track, but it seemed as if two or three days had passed, with Trent forever in the room with her, the doctors and nurses flitting in and out, feeding her, forcing fluids down her, fiddling with the IV, concerned that she eliminate, and assuring her she would be fine.

They seemed worried about infection, anxious about her temperature and her blood pressure, but no one showed the least bit of uneasiness about the fact that her memory had all but disappeared.

When Nikki had asked Padillo about her amnesia, he assured her that her memory would return and she would remember everything about her past, most likely in bits and pieces at first, but then, slowly, all the years of her life would blend together and she would know who she was, her family, what she did for a living. She’d even remember becoming Trent McKenzie’s bride.

She wasn’t so sure.

When she questioned him, Trent was reticent to talk to her about her amnesia. “Don’t worry,” he’d told her. “It’ll come. Take it easy.” She wondered if he’d been coached by the hospital staff or if there was a reason he didn’t want her to remember her past.

He never gave up his vigil. Sitting with her day and night, refusing the next bed, looking the worse for wear each time she awoke, he was in the room with her. He didn’t bother to shave, but did manage to change into a clean shirt one day. Was he devoted? She didn’t buy it for a minute, yet she was certain that there was something tying them together, something worth much more to him than a wedding ring.

Had he kidnapped her and brought her to this tiny island off the coast of South America?

No—for he wouldn’t have alerted the police to her accident, and Padillo himself had talked to the authorities. Unless the Policía de Salvaje were not sophisticated enough to know about crimes committed in the States. Why would they doubt him? He made all the outward signs of caring for her. She, on the other hand, couldn’t remember where she’d lived all her life. Of course they would believe him.

Her head began to throb, and Trent, sensing she was awake, shifted from his spot near the window to take a chair at the foot of the bed. He propped the worn heels of his boots against the mattress and folded his arms over his chest.

“Good morning,” he drawled with a sexy smile.

She glanced at the windows. “It’s afternoon.” Her dry mouth tasted horrible.

“Well, at least you can still tell time.”

“Very funny,” she said, wishing her tongue didn’t feel so thick. She moved her arm and was surprised that there wasn’t much pain. Either she was healing, or the medication hadn’t worn off.

“Feeling better?”

“I feel like hell.”

He chuckled. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sunny personality.”

“Never.” Forcing her gaze to his, she said,“Who are you? And don’t—” she lifted her sore right arm, holding out her palm so that he wouldn’t immediately start giving her pat, hospital-approved answers “—don’t give me any bull about being my husband.”

His lips twitched and showed a hint of white teeth against his dark jaw, but he didn’t argue with her.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I work for an insurance company.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “You—a suit? No way.” She would have bought a lumberjack, or a cowboy, or a race-car driver, but an insurance agent?

“Why not?”

“Give me some credit, will you? I may not be able to remember much, but I’m not a total moron.”

“Believe what you want.” His grin was smug and mocking and she would have given anything to be able to wipe it off his face.

“Oh, now I get it,” she said, unable to stop baiting him. “You’ve spent the better part of the last week camped out here on the off chance I’d wake up and buy term life insurance or accident insurance—”

“I’m an investigator.”

“That’s more like it.”

“For an insurance company. Fraudulent claims. Arson, suicide, that sort of thing.” Cocking his head to one side, he said, “But the company would probably appreciate it if I could sell you some term—”

“Enough already. I believe you.” She tried to sit up, couldn’t and motioned toward the crank at the end of the bed. “Would you—”

Trent, dropping his feet, reached over. Within a minute she was nearly sitting upright. “Better?”

She rubbed the back of her hand where the needle marks from her recent IV were turning black and blue—to match the rest of her body. “Yes. Thanks.”

He seemed less hostile today, and the restlessness which usually accompanied him had nearly disappeared. As he propped his boots on the mattress again, settling low on his back, he actually seemed harmless, just a concerned husband waiting for his bride to recover. She decided to take advantage of his good mood because she couldn’t believe it would last very long.

“How did we meet?”

“I was working for the insurance company on a claim from someone who worked with you. Connie Benson.”

“Connie?” she repeated, shaking her head when no memory surfaced. But the name seemed right. “Connie Benson?”

“You were both reporters at the Observer.”

“I don’t—”

“The Seattle Observer. You told me you’ve worked there for about six years.”

A sharp pain touched her brain. The Observer. She’d heard of it. Now she remembered. Yes, yes! She’d read that particular Seattle daily newspaper all her life.... She remembered sitting at a table...sun streaming through the bay windows of the nook...with...oh, God, with whom? Her head snapped up.

“You remember.”

“Just reading the paper. With someone.”

He held up his hands. “Not me, I’m afraid.”

She felt a niggle of disappointment. For some reason she’d hoped that his story could be proved or disproved by this one little facet of information.

“We met just about five weeks ago.”

“Five weeks?” she repeated, astounded.

“Kind of a whirlwind thing.”

“More like a hurricane. Five weeks? Thirty-five days and we got married?”

“That’s about right.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head, and his eyes grew dark. “I don’t think I’d—”

“You did, damn it, Nikki! We hung out together as much as possible, decided to get married, found a local justice of the peace, tied the knot and came down here for our honeymoon.”

She was still shaking her head. “No, I’m sure—”

His feet clattered to the floor and suddenly he was looming over her, his hands flat on the sheets on either side of her head, his face pressed close to hers. “Look, lady, I’m sorry if I destroyed all your romantic fantasies. But the truth of the matter is that we didn’t have a long engagement or a big, fancy wedding.”

“Why not?”

His sensual grin was positively wicked, and she wondered how she could have felt so comfortable with him only a few minutes before. With one finger, he traced the circle of bones at her throat in a slow sexy motion that caused her blood to flow wildly through her veins. “Because we couldn’t wait, darlin’,” he drawled. “We were just too damned hot.”

“Liar.” She shoved his hand away, but her pulse was jumping crazily, betraying her.

“That’s the way it was. You can try to romanticize it if you want to, put me up on some white charger, give me a suit of shining armor, but it really doesn’t wash, Nikki. I’m no hero.”

Her heart was hammering, her breathing coming in short, quick gulps of air. Oh, dear God! Had she really married this...this sexy, arrogant bastard?

His glance slid insolently down her body. “I could lie to you. Hey, what the hell, you don’t remember anyway, do you? So, if you want to believe it was all hearts and flowers, moonlight and champagne, holding hands as we walked along a beach, well, go right ahead.”

“Why are you doing this?” she said through clenched teeth.

“I just don’t want you to have any illusions about me. That’s all.”

“What about the roses?”

“The what?”

She moved her hand, motioning toward the stand near the bed. In the process, her fingertips scraped against his shirt, grazing the muscles hidden behind the soft blue denim. He sucked in a swift breath, his gaze locking with hers for a heartbeat. Her throat turned to sand and she imagined him on another bed, positioned above her, his body straining and sweating. Slamming her eyes closed, she blocked out the erotic image. He couldn’t be telling the truth! He couldn’t!

“Oh, the flowers. Nice touch, don’t you think?” he said without masking any sarcasm.

“What do you mean? Are you saying they’re just some kind of joke?”

“I thought you’d like them. That’s all.”

Her heart sank as he settled back in his chair again. Recrossing his ankles on the end of the bed, he asked, “Anything else you want to know?”

“Just one thing,” she said, bracing herself. “Why did you marry me if you hate me so much?”

His lips flattened. “I don’t hate you, Nikki.”

“You’ve made a point to ridicule me.”

“Because you can’t or won’t remember me.”

Her heart ached, and she forced the words over her tongue. “Do you love me?”

He hesitated, his eyes shadowing for just a second, his emotions unreadable. Plowing a hand through his hair, he grimaced. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Would you—would you call it love?”

Ignoring her question and the pain that had to be obvious in her gaze, he stood and stretched lazily, his muscles lengthening, his body seeming more starkly male and dangerous than ever.

“Do you love me?” she said again, more forcefully this time.

A sad smile touched his face. “As much as I can, Nik. You can’t remember this, but I may as well lay it out to you. I never much believed in love.”

“Then why did you marry me?”

His jaw tightened and he hesitated for a heartbeat. “It seemed like the thing to do.”

“Why?”

He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and walked to the door. Pausing, he sent her a look that cut right to her soul. “I married you ’cause you wanted it so damned much.”

“Noble of you.”

“You really don’t remember me, do you? ’Cause if you did, you’d know I was anything but noble.” He sauntered away, leaving her feeling raw and wounded as his footsteps faded down the hallway.

She let out a long, heartrending sigh. Everything was such a jumble. Nothing made any sense. Think, Nikki, think! Trent McKenzie is not your husband. He can’t be. Then who the hell is he and what does he want? Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced her mind to roll backward. He’d told her she lived in Seattle, and that felt right. He’d mentioned she’d worked for a newspaper—the Seattle Observer—and that, too, seemed to fit. But nothing else—not the whirlwind romance, not the quick civil ceremony for a wedding, not the hostile man himself—seemed like it would be a part of her life.

So who was he and why was he insisting that they were married? She tried to force her memory, her fists curling in frustration, her mind as blank and stark as the sheets that covered her.

In frustration, she gave up and stared out the window to the blue sky and leaves that moved in the breeze. Maybe she was trying too hard. Maybe she should take the doctor’s advice and let her memory return slowly, bit by bit.

And what about Trent?

Oh, Lord!

“Señorita Carrothers!”

The woman’s voice startled her. She turned her head toward the doorway and found a pretty girl with round cheeks and short black hair. Her smile faded slightly as she noticed the wounds on Nikki’s face.

“¡Dios! Are you all right? We, at the hotel, were so worried—”

“Do I know you?”

“Sí, when you register—”

“Wait a minute.” Nikki held up a hand but was restrained by her IV. She tried to think, to remember. “You’re saying I registered as Carrothers. Señorita Carrothers?” Nikki asked, her heartbeat quickening. This was the first proof that Trent had lied.

“Sí.”

“Was I alone or was my husband with me?”

“Your husband?” A perplexed look crossed the girl’s face.

From somewhere down the hallway, rapid-fire Spanish was directed at the girl in the doorway, and Nurse Vásquez, her guardian feathers obviously ruffled, appeared. Nikki couldn’t understand the conversation but could tell that the nurse was dressing the girl down.

“Wait,” Nikki said when she realized that Vásquez was sending away her one link to the past. “What’s your name? Where do you work?” But already the girl was out of sight, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. “Please, call her back!” she begged, desperate for more information about herself.

“I’m sorry, Señora McKenzie. Strict orders from the doctor. You are to see no one but family members.”

Nikki started to climb out of the bed. “But—”

“Oh, señora, please. You must rest.... Do not move.”

“Don’t let her leave!” Nikki ordered, but it was too late. The girl was gone and Nikki was left with a more defined mistrust of the man posing as her husband. As the nurse took her blood pressure, Nikki said, “Can’t you at least give me her name?”

“I do not know it.”

“Why was she here?”

“A visitor to Señorita Martínez, I believe.”

“Please, ask Señorita her name and where she works.” The nurse seemed about to decline, but Nikki grabbed her sleeve, her fingers desperate. “Please, Nurse Vásquez. It’s important.”

“Dios,” Nurse Vásquez muttered under her breath. “I will see what I can do.”

“Gracias,” Nikki said, crossing her fingers that Trent wouldn’t get wind of her request. For the moment, she would keep her conversation with the woman to herself.

* * *

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 out of bed, I should. And I feel like it now.”

Grumbling about hardheaded women without a lick of sense, Trent bent a little so that she could place her arm around his neck. He wrapped a strong arm around her waist and nearly supported all her weight himself. “Okay, let’s go.”

She was a little unsteady at first, but managed the few steps out of the room to the bathroom down the hall. She tried to ignore the warm impressions of Trent’s fingers at her waist and concentrated on taking each tenuous step. The walking got easier and she became more confident.

If only she could ignore the smell of him, male and musk and leather as they paused at the bathroom door.

“¡Señora McKenzie!” A petite nurse hurried down the hallway. Concern creased her forehead and caused her steps to hurry along the smooth tile floor. “¡Espere!” As she approached, she slid a furious glance at Trent. “¿Qué es esto?” Her black eyes snapped fire and her thin lips drew tight like a purse string.

“She wants to know what’s going on here,” Trent explained. There was an exchange of angry Spanish, and finally Nurse Lidia Sánchez shoved open the restroom door with her hip and helped Nikki inside. “I guess she didn’t like my bedside manner,” Trent offered as the door swung shut.

Nurse Sánchez was still muttering furiously in Spanish, but Nikki didn’t even try to understand her. Instead she stared at her reflection in the mirror mounted over the sink. Her heart dropped and all the tears she’d fought valiantly swam to the surface of her eyes. The swelling had gone down, but bruises and scrapes surrounded her eye sockets. Thick scabs covered the abrasions on her cheeks and chin. Her hair was dirty and limp and she barely recognized herself. She hadn’t expected to be beautiful, but she hadn’t thought it would be this bad. Beneath the bruises she could see traces of a woman who would be considered pretty and vivacious, with green eyes, an easy smile and high cheekbones. Her chin-length hair, a light brown streaked with strands of honey-blond, held the promise of thick waves, but today the dirty strands hung limp and lusterless.

Trent certainly wasn’t posing as her husband because he was taken with her beauty. She winced as she touched the corner of her eye where the scab had curdled.

“Pase,” Nurse Sánchez insisted as she held open the door to the lavatory. “Ahora.”

Nikki followed her orders, but on her way out paused at the mirror again and caught Nurse Sánchez in the mirror’s reflection as she attempted to wash her hands. “Do you know which room Mrs. Martínez is in?”

“Sí, room seven. You know her?” she asked skeptically.

“Just of her,” Nikki said, wiping her hands and following the nurse back to her empty room. Trent wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and she felt a mixture of emotions ranging from disappointment to relief. She had started to trust him, but the girl from the hotel had caused all her doubts to creep back into her mind. Somehow she had to find a way to talk to Mrs. Martínez in room seven.

Her bed had been changed, and she lay on the crisp sheets and closed her eyes. Her surface wounds were healing. Even her ankle was much better, but her memory was still a cloudy fog, ever-changing like the tide, allowing short little glimpses into the past life, but never completely rolling away.

She was certain she remembered a golden retriever named Shorty, and that she’d never gotten along with her sisters, who were several years older, but she couldn’t recall their names or their faces.

Instinctively she knew that she’d always been ambitious and that she’d never spent much time lying around idle—already the hospital walls were beginning to cave in on her—yet she couldn’t recall the simple fact that she was married to a man as unforgettable as Trent McKenzie.

She was in limbo. No past. No future. A person who didn’t really exist.

At the sound of the scrape of his boot, she opened her eyes and found Trent at the foot of her bed. His expression was as grim as she’d ever seen. “There’s good news and bad news,” he said, his fingers gripping the metal rail of the bed until his knuckles showed white. “The good news is that you get to leave this place. Padillo says that you can leave tomorrow.”

“And the bad news?”

“The airline we’re booked on, one of the few carriers that flies to this island, declared Chapter Eleven yesterday.”

“I don’t understand.”

His eyebrows pulled together, forming a solid black line. “They’re in bankruptcy reorganization. Everyone who bought a seat on the plane is scrambling to get passage on the other carriers. The airport’s a madhouse, and my guess is that we won’t get out of here for at least two days.”

“Two days?” she repeated.

“Maybe longer.” His jaw was tight with frustration. “I booked us another room, and I was lucky to get one. I paid for a week. Just in case.” He kicked at an imaginary stone on the floor. “Looks like we’re stuck here for a while, Mrs. McKenzie. Just you and me.”