Forgotten Lullaby (3 page)

“And if it's emotional?”

Grant played with the tiny buttons on Carly's sleeper, his chest tightening. He didn't want to think about what would happen if Emma's memory didn't return. “It might be months. Or she might never regain her memory.”

Kate sighed. “Did he suggest therapy? Hypnosis?”

“No. Only to be patient, give Emma time. And make sure she rests.” He exhaled shakily. “No stress, either.”

“She'll need help with the baby.” Kate picked up one of Carly's stuffed bunnies, tugged on a floppy ear, then pressed it to her chest in a way that made her seem oddly young and vulnerable.

“I know she'll need help.” Grant frowned. “I plan on taking care of her. And Martha comes twice a week. I may have her come every day.”

“What about your business trip to Paris?” Kate asked. “I know you postponed it, but have you rescheduled?”

“I'm not going,” Grant said, his temper flaring. “I'm going to work at home.”

“Well, that's a surprise.” Kate folded her arms across her chest.

Grant stopped the motion of the rocking chair and glared at Kate. “What's that supposed to mean? I've been with Emma and Carly every minute I could over the last few days.”

Kate shrugged. “I know. But you usually don't let anything keep you from work.”

Carly fidgeted, one socked foot slipping out from the
blanket. He tucked her foot back in and struggled to control the tone of his voice. “You really think I'd leave the country with Emma in the condition she's in? What kind of a husband do you think I am?”

A long silence stretched between them, the tension almost palpable. Kate's refusal to answer piqued him even more.

“Look, Kate, you're not being fair. I know you haven't always approved—”

“It's not that,” Kate said angrily. “It's just that you've been leaving her alone a lot lately and I figured—”

“You figured I'd bring her home from the hospital and run off to Paris to work?” Grant stood and paced the floor with Carly, shocked at Kate's low opinion of him. “Is it really me, Kate, or do you hate all men?”

Kate winced, ignoring his comment. “Emma has a lot of pride and she's independent, but I can sense she's been lonely lately.”

“Emma told you that?”

“No, but I could tell from talking to her.” Kate's expression softened. “It's a big adjustment going from working full-time to staying home with a baby.”

Grant bit back a retort. How would Kate know? She spent all her time shopping for her beloved antiques and going to the beauty parlor. “Emma wanted to stay home with Carly.”

“I know,” Kate said on a long sigh. “But that doesn't mean staying home hasn't been an adjustment. Emma was used to being with people all day, taking care of customers, running a business. She enjoyed her job.”

“You think she didn't enjoy being home with Carly?”

“No.” Kate rolled her eyes. “But it's been a change for her.”

Recent conversations with Emma raced through his mind, especially the one the afternoon before her accident.
I wanted us to have a special dinner tonight,
she'd said. But what had he done? He'd gone to dinner with a client, then stayed for drinks to discuss business with Priscilla. Two days before that, Emma had asked him to meet her and Carly for lunch. Once again he'd been too busy.

But he'd been in meetings, not just dallying around. Emma knew that. She knew he'd been working his butt off to make a good life for both of them. For Carly, too.

“Grant—” Kate's voice broke into his disturbing thoughts “—I'm sorry. I was out of line.”

He saw concern written on her usually smug face. “You think it was my fault, don't you? You think she was unhappy with me and she doesn't remember me because she doesn't want to.” The idea shook him to the core.

“No,” Kate said hurriedly, “that's not what I meant, Grant.” She walked toward him, holding out her arms for the baby. “The accident caused the amnesia. You heard what the doctor said.”

Grant barely registered her protests. “But she remembers you. And her parents. She probably even remembers her high-school boyfriends.” He hated the desperation in his voice. “But she can't remember me,” he finished, feeling defeated.

“Give her time.” Kate placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I'll put Carly down for a nap while you bring Emma home.” She squeezed his shoulder reas
suringly. “Maybe you're right, Grant. Emma loves you. Coming home is probably exactly what she needs.”

Grant kissed Carly on the forehead and nodded, his body wound like a tightly coiled spring.
Emma loves me.
At least, she
used
to; now she didn't even
know
him. “I hope so,” he said. Once he'd gotten over the shock of the amnesia, he'd realized how frightening the ordeal must be for Emma. She'd not only awakened injured, but she'd lost part of her life.

A fresh stab of pain hit him. Of course, if she didn't remember their marriage, he was going to lose a part of
his
life. The best part.

Emma took a deep breath and glanced at Grant, hoping to gain strength from his steady calmness, but tension radiated from every pore of his body. Anxiety crawled along her own nerves. She would soon be home, a place she couldn't even remember.

He'd combed his hair away from his forehead, accentuating the hard lines of his angular face. Thick dark eyebrows arched over his tormented blue eyes, and the white shirt he wore contrasted sharply with his olive skin. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw and upper lip, and his sideburns had been clipped high above his ears. She wondered if he had to shave twice a day.
Something I should know, as his wife.

He glanced over and caught her staring. For a moment their gazes locked. Then the corner of his mouth lifted into a sexy smile and her breath caught as she realized how devastatingly handsome he looked when he lost that tortured grim expression.

He'd been upset when he'd arrived to pick her up, and she'd sensed there was something he wasn't telling her. Had the police discovered what had caused her wreck? “Grant, did you talk to the police?”

Grant's expression became guarded and he kept his
gaze on the highway. “I talked to Detective Warner, but he said he hasn't found anything yet.”

“I see.” So that wasn't the problem.

She turned to gaze out the side window, realizing he must be upset about bringing her home. Her stomach drew itself into a tight knot of anxiety. For the past two days he'd been telling her about herself. She dug her fingernails into her palms, stifling the urge to scream in frustration. She'd lost the past four years of her life and had no idea how to get them back.

According to Grant, she'd married him three years ago and they lived in a small Victorian-style house in the middle of a quaint neighborhood in Raleigh, North Carolina. But she couldn't remember any of it. Not even her wedding day or giving birth—possibly the two most important events in a woman's life.

Retrograde amnesia—the words reverberated over and over in her brain, grating on her already frayed nerves like an out-of-tune piano. Only time would tell if her memory would return. And if it didn't…

“We're almost home,” Grant said in the husky voice that made warmth rush through her. His blue eyes bore into hers, searching, probing, seeking something she might never give. She held his gaze for a brief moment before reality set in. He knew her intimately, but he could have been a stranger on the street to her. She desperately tried to remember some small detail of their life together, some emotion for the handsome stranger, but her mind remained an empty black hole.

“So you're an architect?” she finally said in an attempt to fill the awkward silence.

“Yes. I've been with this company for three years.”

“Did you design our house?”

His jaw tightened slightly, then he seemed to force it
to relax. “No. It was a resale. It actually needed some fixing up, but we…that is, I planned to do it myself.”

“Oh.” Emma didn't know why that surprised her. He obviously knew about building houses—probably had redone everything to his own specifications. “I'm sure it's lovely,” she said.

Grant rolled his shoulders and tension tightened his shoulders, evident in his rigid posture. “It's nice. But I still haven't gotten around to all those projects yet.” He gave her a lopsided smile, an almost apologetic one, she noted, then turned his attention to the road.

Glancing at him once again, she noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his big hands wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. What kind of a nightmare had they both fallen into? And what about their marriage—did they love each other?

Right now he looked as miserable as she felt. He'd tried to hide it; he'd told her not to worry, that he knew her memory would return once they arrived home. But she saw the fear lurking in his troubled eyes.

She was petrified. What if her memory never returned? Could she stay married to a stranger? Did he want to remain married to her?

“Our cleaning lady came by and straightened up,” Grant said, breaking the strained silence. “Her name is Martha. You met her at the jewelry store where you used to work.”

“I see,” Emma said, hating the formality in her tone.

“And Kate stayed with Carly this morning.”

Kate. Emma clung to her sister's name like a lifeline. At least with Kate around, she wouldn't have to face this ordeal alone. Perhaps she could live with Kate for a while. She'd mentioned it to Grant, but had felt his
suppressed fury at the idea. Then he'd masked his anger and the doctor had reassured her Grant had a point. Going home might trigger bits and pieces of her memory.

Emma studied her surroundings while Grant steered the Acura down a street lined with ancient magnolias and azaleas. Neat manicured lawns and an array of pastel-colored wooden homes filled the block. Neighbors were out shoveling off the small patches of murky ice and snow from a recent snowstorm, and the trees looked bare and desolate without their leaves. An older woman wearing a blue jogging suit walked along the sidewalk, and two small children raced bikes up and down the street.

“Oh, this is beautiful. I love those weeping willows,” Emma said, sitting up to look out the window.

Grant smiled and visibly relaxed. “That's the same thing you said the first time we drove down this street.”

A ray of hope darted through Emma. Maybe the minute she saw her home, her past would all come rushing back.

“We looked at that ranch,” Grant said, pointing to a redbrick house with green shutters. “But the wallpaper in the kitchen was hideous. Black with these huge orange flowers.”

“That sounds awful.” Her smile faded, bitterness invading. She couldn't recall how she'd decorated her own kitchen. She liked yellow and rose and green—had she used those colors?

Grant seemed to notice her sudden change of mood, because he reached for her hand and held it. She studied his guarded features and wondered if they were close, if they shared a special bond, the sort she'd always dreamed of sharing with someone. He smelled wonder
ful, all musky but fresh as if he'd recently showered and put on aftershave. His hand felt warm and big enveloping hers, and Emma took comfort in his presence. He seemed like a kind man. After all, she wouldn't have married him if he hadn't been, would she?

“The Porters live in that house,” Grant said, pointing out a gray two-story with a fenced-in yard. “His wife is expecting any day now.”

“That's nice,” Emma said. “Do we know them very well? Are we friends?”

Grant sighed. “Not really. You wanted to invite them for dinner last week.”

“But we didn't?”

“No, I had to work late.”

Emma nodded, wondering at his frown. At least she hadn't married a bum. Grant sounded like an ambitious man.

“How did we meet? Through your job somehow?”

He shook his head. “No, we met in college. Kate attended UNC, where I went, and you came up to visit her one weekend. We met at a party after a football game.”

“Really? Did we date right away?”

A smile curved Grant's mouth. “You really have forgotten. Sweetheart, you chased me shamelessly.”

“What?” Emma's eyes widened. “I…I did?”

Grant laughed softly, a husky sound that warmed her and helped drain some of the tension from her knotted muscles. “You know, perhaps there is an upside to this,” he said in a mischievous voice. “You've forgotten all the foolish things I did to win you. I could tell you that you fawned all over me, and you wouldn't know any differently.”

Emma shivered at the sexiness radiating from his
teasing tone. “I may not remember, but I do know I didn't fawn all over you. I wouldn't fawn all over
anyone.
”

Grant's eyes twinkled as he squeezed her hand. “Can't blame a guy for trying.”

Emma smiled and studied his long tanned fingers, her own hands clammy with perspiration. He seemed to sense her confusion and released her hand. “So tell me the truth—did I really chase you?”

Grant's tone turned serious again. “Hardly, sweetheart. It was the other way around. And
I'd
rather not remember those days.”

This time Emma laughed. And she couldn't help the faint stirring of her pulse, the tingle that raced through her body at the humility she saw in his eyes. The passion lurking in the dark blue depths excited and frightened her at the same time.

When he'd comforted her in the hospital, a subtle attraction had strummed through her. She'd been drawn to him, relieved he'd stayed with her. His deep husky voice had called to her when she was in that coma, a heady baritone that had pleaded with her to wake up, not to leave him. He'd saved her life. Now that she knew the voice belonged to her husband, she wanted to remember him. But his face, his smile, his voice—it felt as if she was meeting him for the very first time.

They passed a group of teenagers lounging by a car, the radio blasting. She clung to it as a safe topic. “It looks like they're having fun.”

“The little redhead, Darlene, offered to baby-sit sometime.”

Questions once again swirled through Emma's mind. She didn't recognize these people, but they would know her. And what about her baby? Could she be a good
mother to a child she didn't remember? “Has she ever sat for us?”

Grant's silence lingered a fraction too long for comfort, and Emma raised an eyebrow. “Grant, did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he finally said, his voice clipped. “We haven't gotten out much since Carly was born.”

“I guess that's pretty normal,” Emma said, although at the moment she had no idea what constituted normal.

Finally Grant slowed in front of a blue Victorian house with white-lattice trim. “That has to be our house. I can't believe it. I used to dream about a house like this when I was little.”

Grant smiled hopefully and veered the car into the driveway. A neatly weeded flower bed bordered the front of the house. She could easily imagine it with tulips and petunias in the spring. Three ferns hung from the front stoop, and clipped monkey grass formed a border along the sidewalk to the wraparound porch. Blue jays fluttered down and nibbled at birdseed from a tall stone bird feeder in the center of the yard.

“It's beautiful. I can't wait to see the inside.”

“It's not all fixed up yet,” Grant said, sounding apologetic again.

“I'm sure it's fine, Grant.”

“We still have some of the furniture we had when we were first married.” Grant shrugged. “We planned to buy a new bedroom suite, but, well…”

Bedroom furniture? Emma paused, gripping the door handle, her pulse accelerating.

Grant rambled on as if he recognized the awkward moment and wanted to smooth it over. Instead, he made it worse. “I mean there's plenty of room, but the furniture's not new.”

“It's okay, Grant.” Emma took pity on him. Sensing his anxiety, she relaxed, realizing there would be lots of uncomfortable moments ahead of them. She should have asked about the sleeping arrangements before she agreed to move home with him. Surely he didn't expect her to sleep with him.

“We'll redo it sometime,” Grant said. “Maybe I'll start a couple of projects right away.”

Emma pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don't need everything perfect, Grant.”
Just my memory back would do.

And a separate bedroom for now.

Grant's silent gaze almost unnerved her.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“You told me that the day we moved in, too.” A smile crinkled his face, and the cleft in his chin became more pronounced as his mouth widened. He had beautiful teeth, white and straight.

She returned his smile, searching deep inside for courage. “Well, let me go take a look.” Her strained muscles protested, and she winced as she tried to open the car door. The smallest movement hurt her sore ribs, and getting out with her injured leg seemed impossible. The reminders of her accident made her touch her face in a self-conscious gesture. She felt like a battered old woman; she must look horrible.

Grant's smile disappeared, and an emotion akin to guilt darkened his eyes. “Wait, Emma. Take it easy and I'll help you.”

Emma swallowed. Grant jerked his gaze away from her and opened the door, then stood silently by the car for a moment, his posture rigid as if bracing himself for her return home. Was he glad to have her here? Or did he feel as awkward as she did?

He rounded the car, opened her car door and in one fluid but gentle motion swept her up into his strong arms. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Emma said softly. Her heart fluttered as she awkwardly wrapped her arm around Grant's neck. His breath brushed her cheek. His hard chest pressed against her breast. His mouth was so close to hers she could feel the whisper of his breath. He had full lips, and for a second she wondered what it would be like if he kissed her.

“I feel the way I did when I carried you over the threshold,” Grant said, moving toward the front door.

Emma strained for the memory to return, but nothing surfaced. Instead, her head pounded in response.

“Relax,” Grant said as if he'd read her mind. “Don't try to force it—doctor's orders.”

Emma feigned a smile and tried to prepare herself mentally to see her home. And to meet her baby. Her stomach fluttered again when the door swung open.

Her sister, Kate, stood there smiling, concern shadowing her face. “Hi, sis.” She motioned toward the couch. “I tried to clear the laundry off the sofa, but Carly can really go through the clothes. The bed's ready, if you need to rest.”

The thought of bed immediately sent Emma's stomach into another spasm. But when she gazed into the homey room, she relaxed somewhat, imagining herself choosing the comfortable furnishings. Why had Grant sounded apologetic? The furniture might not be new, but it felt cozy. She immediately noticed a framed photo on the mantel—a picture of Grant, their baby and herself. Her throat closed when she saw the simple wicker bassinet sitting beside the couch. A thick pink baby comforter decorated with little white hearts lay draped
over the edge, and a teddy bear sat in the middle, its big button eyes pulling at her heartstrings.