Forget Me Not (8 page)

Helen looked at Gabe to gauge his reaction. He hadn't said much at all since her entrance. His mouth looked grim. He'd tucked his hands under his armpits. "What's your prognosis?" he asked point-blank.

Dr. Terrien's shaggy eyebrows rose. "It's a little early for me to say," he answered honestly.

"Give a stab at it," Gabe quietly exhorted.

Helen's gaze slid back to the doctor. When Gabe demanded answers, people did back flips to ensure that he got them.

Dr. Terrien shook his head. "It's really too soon," he insisted. "You could get your memory back tomorrow. Or, it could take years. As I've said, we have no way to predict whether your amnesia is a result of brain damage or emotional distress or both. But with your wife's help"—his mysterious gaze slid over Helen—"we'll do our best to recover the earlier memories."

Helen's gut clenched. What was this, marriage counseling? She didn't want to rehash those earlier days. She wanted to move on with her life.

With sudden rebellion, she surged to her feet. But obedience had been drilled into her since childhood, and it kept her rooted to the carpet.

"Did you fill your prescriptions?" the doctor asked Gabe.

"Yes," he said, and he stood up slowly, as if the session had exhausted him.

"Dexamphetamine during the day," the doctor said, coming to his feet. "It'll keep you alert and focused."

"Already took it," Gabe said, thrusting a hand at the doctor.

Helen shook the doctor's hand as well and exited quickly. She stopped in the waiting room, long enough to tear the article about rock gardens out of the magazine and stuff it into her purse. One day, when she had time to herself again, she'd work on it.

She realized Gabe was holding the door for her and she hurried through it, thanking him, though she'd learned long ago that such formalities were taught in the military. He wasn't simply being thoughtful.

The sunlight was blinding. Helen shoved her sunglasses on. Gabe squinted. Once inside the Jaguar, she cranked on the air conditioner and turned up the radio, making conversation unnecessary. They drove back to Sandbridge in silence.

Helen spent the time reviewing what the doctor had told them. The longer she thought about it, the more worried she got Dr. Terrien seemed determined to review the two years of their married life together. She wanted nothing more than to forget those hurtful years. She decided then and there that Mallory was going to walk Gabe through the photo albums.

They were just approaching the beachfront when Gabe shifted in his seat and faced her.

Helen's heartbeat accelerated. The directness of his gaze made her skin feel tight.

"Who was Mallory's father?" he asked, surprising her with his continued interest

"His name was Zach Taylor. I dated him in college."

"And?" he prompted.

"And nothing. He dropped me like a hot potato when he found out I was pregnant. My parents were horrified and insisted that I deny Zach all legal rights as a father. He was more than willing to sign the documents."

"Why would your parents do that?" Gabe asked.

Helen gave a humorless laugh. "Zach was going nowhere with his life. Even though he was brilliant, he dropped out of college because he thought his professors were ignorant. He couldn't hold a steady job because he thought his manager was ignorant. He was the dead last person my parents wanted in my life or in Mallory's."

They drove awhile longer in silence. "That must have sucked," Gabe said with sympathy.

She shot him a startled glance. It wasn't often that Gabe considered other people's feelings. She shrugged. "I got through it," she retorted. True, but not without making one more mistake and giving her heart to a man who'd refused to give his in return.

"So they introduced me to you, thinking I'd make a better father?" he marveled.

Helen frowned. The did Gabe had always touted himself as the better choice. "At least you didn't run the other way," she pointed out, defending him. He'd been startled upon meeting Mallory, there was no denying that. But he'd recovered quickly, determined, it seemed, to claim Helen for his bride, regardless of the luggage she carried with her.

"Has he ever asked about her? Ever wanted to see her?"

"Zach? No, never."

Gabe shook his head, muttering something deprecatory under his breath.

"What's gotten into you?" Helen demanded.

"I can't understand a man running from his mistakes—not when there's a child involved."

His words struck a funny chord in her. "Why not?" she countered. "That's exactly what you did. You hid at the office so that you wouldn't have to face the fact that you were married." She couldn't believe she had the gall to toss that out, especially when Gabe was being so considerate.

His yellow-green eyes flashed in her direction. "Pull the car over," he said with resolve.

"What?" There were mounds of sand on either side of the road. She was not going to pull over and get them stuck.

"Pull over. Now." To her astonishment, he reached over and grabbed the steering wheel, driving two tires up the sandy embankment. Helen slammed on the brakes, and they came to a swerving stop.

"What are you doing!" she yelled, turning toward him and whipping off her sunglasses.

"Shhh," he said, catching her face with his hand.

Helen froze. What in God's name was he doing? He wasn't going ballistic on her, was he? Just what kind of effect had his captivity had on him?

His grip was gentle, thank God. His fingers strayed, caressing her cheekbone, the line of her jaw, her chin. Dazed, she stared into his eyes, snared by the web of sensual pleasure he was spinning on her face.

"I want you to know something," he said, very intently, his eyes burning into hers. "Whatever happens to you and me, if it doesn't work out between us, I'll still take care of Mallory. I'll never do what Zach did and turn my back on her."

Helen swallowed convulsively. Several times now in the short while that they'd been back together, he'd surprised her by saying the unexpected. Did he mean it? Why would he suddenly care about Mallory when he hadn't even given her the time of day before? There was only one reason she could think of. He was scared of losing his family; scared of being all alone with no career to occupy him.

"I know what you're doing," she said quietly.

He shook his head. "What?"

"It won't work, you know. Paying attention to us now won't change the past."

He released her abruptly and sat back.

She felt like she'd just slapped him. Doubt tugged at her anew. Maybe she'd read him wrong.

He looked out the window, averting his face.

Helen struggled with herself. Part of her longed to take those words back, but it was better to be forthright, to make it absolutely clear that she didn't want to backtrack.

Swallowing an apology, she fumbled to replace her sunglasses. She put the car into gear and drove them out of the sand, headed for home.

They completed the trip in silence. Silence so thick it would take a jackhammer to break through it.

She suspected she had actually hurt Gabe's feelings. That in itself was a novelty. For once, she was the one ignoring him and he was the one feeling rejected.

She frowned at the realization. Had they switched roles since his return? Was she doing to him what he had done to her in some kind of subconscious reprisal?

Darting him a glance, she caught a glimpse of his hopeless expression. Guilt pricked her anew. To think what the man had suffered this past year! Just because their marriage had been a disappointment, that didn't give her the right to be mean to him now.

She nosed the car into their driveway and killed the engine. Just as Gabe started to push his door open, she reached for him, putting a light hand on his forearm. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, meaning it.

He looked from her hand to her face. For several seconds, he said nothing at all, though his eyes were full of silent messages. "Me too," he said finally.

With that, he withdrew from the vehicle, leaving her strangely more regretful.

S
he'd talked Mallory into taking her place. Disappointment dragged Gabe's spirits down to an all-time low as he watched his stepdaughter pull a photo album from a shelf on the bookcase. "This is your wedding album," she said, flopping down on the study couch next to him,

Gabe looked down at the white cover with its gold trim, conscious of a great reluctance to participate in this activity, especially if Helen wasn't going to do it with him. "You know, I'm feeling kind of tired," he balked. "Let's look at pictures in the morning." He wasn't lying, either. Despite the medicine he'd taken every four hours, he felt weary down deep in his bones.

What he felt was defeat. The two things he wanted most right now seemed completely out of reach: returning to the SEALs and Helen's warmth.

Since her apology that afternoon, she'd been especially kind to him, but in a cool way that left distance between them. He'd forked down as much of her watery casserole as he could, his appetite having fled along with his energy. He wanted nothing more than to take his sleeping pills and seek oblivion on this lumpy couch.

"Just one album?" Mallory pleaded. She turned her big green eyes on him, and he knew he was a goner.

"All right. Just one."

She rewarded him with a smile, a dimple appearing on her left cheek. He found himself thinking she was going to break a few hearts one day. God protect the male race.

"Okay," Mallory said, cracking the cover, "here's Mom getting dressed for the wedding."

Gabe took a deep breath and plunged in. He was treated to a vision of Helen in a lace corset, complete with garters and sexy white stockings, standing beside her wedding dress. Her thighs were even more gorgeous than he'd imagined. His mouth went dry.

"And here she is putting on makeup."

Gabe lost himself in the close-up shots of Helen's face. She was younger, fresher, curvier than now. The pictures of her peering into the mirror, applying blush and eyeliner were subtly intimate. They caught a young woman performing that once-in-a-lifetime ritual of preparing for her groom. Helen glowed with expectation. Her honey-colored eyes were bright with excitement. No wonder he'd been unable to resist her.

Mallory turned the page.

"Here you are at the church. You're waiting for Mom to come in."

The picture was just like the one he'd taken from her bathroom, only this time he was a sharp-looking sailor in his dress-whites. The expression on his face was supremely confident. No last-minute sweats for this guy. The focus in his gaze was daunting.

Gabe felt as if the walls were closing in. He sat back on the couch and steadied his breathing. Perspiration dotted his forehead and made his shirt stick to his back. He didn't want to see any more pictures.

Mallory turned her head and looked at him. She scooted farther back, so she was sitting snugly beside him. "You want to see what I looked like at ten?" she asked.

The kid was good. Gabe gave her profile a wry grimace and let his gaze be drawn to the album again. She was pointing to a girl in a garnet-colored gown, her chestnut hair shot with baby's breath, green eyes wide and sparkling.

Gabe felt the breath rush out of his lungs. "Pretty," he said. "I like the color of your hair."

She grimaced. "Yeah, well, this'll wash out." As she tucked a strand of dyed hair behind her ear, Gabe realized she'd punched holes all the way up the delicate shell.

"Does Mom know you pierced your ear like that?" he asked. He gave himself a start by calling Helen
Mom.

Mallory covered the evidence with a toss of her head. "Yeah," she said warily. "It's just my left ear. I did it a month ago," she added defensively.

"Why'd you do it?" he asked, not seeing the point, especially when she kept them empty.

A sulky expression slipped over her face. "I don't know. My friends dared me to, I guess."

"What did Mom say?" He liked calling Helen
Mom.
It made their arrangement sound permanent, irrevocable.

Her look of disgust was almost comical. "She wigged out on me completely. That's why I don't wear any studs. I have to close the holes up."

He wanted to shake Helen's hand for holding her ground. "So you put yourself through all that for nothing," he pointed out.

She shrugged, a quick rise and fall of her shoulders.

Her silence nagged at him. "Do you always do what your friends say?" he added, goading something out of her.

"No."

He waited, sensing more.

"That's not really why I did it," she admitted quietly.

"No?"

Seconds stretched by as Mallory stared sightlessly at the photos. Suddenly she pushed the album off her lap and bolted, leaving Gabe sitting there by himself with more to think about than ever.

He wasn't an expert in child psychology by any means, but half a dozen holes in one ear was surely a cry for attention. Given Helen's accusations that he'd ignored his stepdaughter, he had to assume that he was, in some way, responsible for Mallory's actions, even though she'd thought him dead when she did it. If he'd been more of a father before he'd left on his last assignment, would she have pierced her ear then?

With a whispered curse he rubbed his gritty eyes. God, he was tired! The roadblocks in his future seemed higher and wider than anything he'd ever faced in his past—and that was saying a lot for a man who'd lived through Hell Week. Back in his days of training he'd had the energy to endure whatever was demanded of him. He was younger then. Right now, he felt about a million years old.

Through half-closed eyes, he studied his surroundings. The office had been converted out of the smallest of the three bedrooms. His bed was a burgundy and green sofa, lumpy but soft. The bookcases and computer desk were matching mahogany. An elegant valance framed the single window. It was paradise compared to what he'd likely endured. He really couldn't complain.

His gaze slid to the space beside him where the album teetered on the edge of the cushion, still opened to where Mal had left it. He studied the pictures from a distance, keeping himself aloof.