Finally she managed to wedge it open, and when she did, his torso slumped into her waiting arms. His bloody head fell onto her shoulder. Beneath his dead weight, she collapsed to her knees.
Wrapping her arms around his chest, she pulled him from beneath the steering wheel. It was a struggle. Several times she lost her footing in the slippery mud and landed hard on her backside. But each time she clambered to her feet, dug her heels in, and put forth enormous effort into pulling him free of the wreckage. His heels had barely cleared the door when the car snapped free of its temporary moorings and slid into the creek.
Kendall related her story, omitting her private thoughts.
When she finished, the deputy was practically standing at attention, looking as though he might salute her. "Lady, you'll probably get a medal or something."
"I seriously doubt that," she murmured.
He removed a small spiral notebook and a ballpoint pen from the breast pocket of his shirt. "Name?"
Buying time, she pretended not to understand. "Pardon?"
"Your name?"
The small hospital staff had been kind enough to admit them without first thrusting forms and questionnaires at her.
That kind of trusting, informal procedure would be unheard of in a large city hospital. But in rural Georgia, compassion superseded collecting insurance cards.
Now, however, Kendall was faced with the grim realities of her situation, and she wasn't ready to deal with them. She hadn't yet decided what to do, how much to tell, where to go from here.
She had no compunctions about stretching the truth. She had done it before. All her life. Many times. Extensively and elaborately. But lying to the police was serious business. She had never gone quite that far before.
Bowing her head, she massaged her temples and reconsidered asking for a painkiller to muffle her drumming headache.
"My name?"-she repeated, stalling, praying that a brilliant idea would suddenly occur to her. "Or the name of the woman who died?"
"Let's start with you."
She held her breath for a moment, then said softly, "Ken dall."
"That'd be K-e-n-d-a-l-l?" he asked as he wrote it in his notebook.
She nodded.
"Okay, Mrs. Kendall. Was that also the name of the fatality?"
"No, it's Kendall"
Before she could correct the deputy's mistake, the curtain was whisked aside with a screech of metal rings on an unoiled track. The doctor on call strode in.
Kendall's heart skipped a beat. Breathlessly, she asked, "How is he?"
The doctor grinned. "Alive, thanks to you."
"Has he regained consciousness? Has he said anything?
What has he told you?"
"Want to take a look-see for yourself?"
"I . . . I suppose."
"Hey, Doc, hold on a sec. I have some questions to ask her," the deputy complained. "Lots of important paperwork, don'cha know."
"Can't that wait? She's upset, and I can't give her anything to calm her down because she's nursing."
The deputy glanced at the baby, then at Kendall's chest.
His face turned the color of a ripe tomato. "Well, I reckon it'll keep for a spell. But it's got to be done."
"Sure, sure," the doctor said.
The nurse lifted Kevin from Kendall's arms. He remained asleep. "I'll find this little precious one a crib in the nursery.
Don't worry about him. You go with the doctor."
The deputy fiddled with the brim of his hat while shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I'll just sit out here.
Then, whenever you're ready, ma'am, to, uh, you know, finish up here . .."
"Have a cup of coffee, why don't you?" the doctor suggested, humoring the officer.
The doctor was young and brash and, in Kendall's estimation, very full of himself. She doubted that the ink on his medical diploma was dry yet, but he obviously enjoyed asserting his limited authority. Without a backward glance at the deputy, he ushered her down the corridor.
"He has a tibia! shaft fracture, or your basic broken shin bone," he explained. "There was no displacement, so he won't require surgery, or a rod, etcetera. In that respect, he was extremely lucky. From the way you described the car"
"The hood was pleated like a paper fan. I don't know why the steering wheel didn't crush his chest."
"Right. I was afraid he'd have busted ribs, internal bleeding, organ damage, but I see no evidence of any. His vital signs have stabilized. That's the good news.
"The bad news is that he took quite a knock on the head.
X rays show only a hairline fracture on the skull, but I had to take several dozen stitches to close the wound. It isn't too pretty right now, but eventually his hair'll grow back over it.
Won't spoil his good looks too much," he said, smiling down at her.
"He bled quite a lot."
"We've given him a unit of blood just to be on the safe side. He sustained a concussion, but if he's quiet for several days, he'll be okay. With his leg broken like it is, he'll be on crutches for at least a month. He won't have much choice but to lie around, be lazy, and let himself heal. Here we are." He steered her toward a room. "He just regained consciousness a few minutes ago, so he's still groggy."
The doctor went into the dimly lighted room ahead of her.
She hesitated on the threshold and surveyed the room. On one wall was an atrocious paint-by-number picture of Jesus ascending into the clouds; an AIDS awareness poster hung on the opposite wall. It was a semiprivate room with two beds, but he was the only patient.
His lower leg, secured in a cast, was propped up on a pillow.
He'd been dressed in a hospital gown that reached only to the middle of his thighs. They looked strong and tan against the white sheets, out of keeping with an infirmary.
A nurse was taking his blood pressure. His dark eyebrows were drawn into a frown beneath the wide gauze bandage encircling his head. His hair was matted with dried blood and an antiseptic solution. A ghastly number of bruises discolored his arms. The features of his face had been distorted by swelling, contusions, and bruises, but he was recognizable by the vertical cleft in his chin and the hard slant of his mouth, from which protruded a thermometer.
Briskly, the doctor moved to the bedside and consulted the blood pressure reading the nurse had noted on the patient's chart. "Looking better all the time." He also murmured approval when the nurse showed him the patient's current body temperature.
Although Kendall still hesitated just outside the door, the patient's eyes instantly homed in on her. They penetrated the shadowed depths of their sockets, which were sunken and dark from blood l oss and pain. But his unflinching stare was as incisive as ever.
The first time she had looked directly into his eyes, she had sensed and respected their keen perception. She had even feared it a little. She still did. He seemed to possess an uncanny ability to see straight into her in a way that was most unsettling.
He had her pegged from their first meeting. He knew a liar when he saw one.
She hoped that his talent for reading her thoughts would serve now to let him know how genuinely sorry she was that he'd been injured. If not for her, the wreck never would have occurred. He had been driving, but it was she who was accountable for the pain and discomfort he was suffering. Realizing this, she was filled with remorse. She was the last person he would want hovering over his hospital bed.
Misreading the cause of her hesitation, the nurse smiled and motioned her forward. "He's decent. You can come in now."
Battling her apprehension, Kendall stepped into the room and gave the patient a faltering smile. "Hi. How do you feel?"
He fixed an unblinking stare on her that lasted for several moments. Finally, he glanced up at the doctor, then at the nurse, before his gaze moved back to Kendall. Then in a weak, hoarse voice, he asked, "Who are you?"
The doctor bent over his patient. "You mean you don't recognize her?"
"No. Am I supposed to? Where am I? Who am I?"
The doctor just gaped at his patient. The nurse stood dumb founded, the hose of the blood pressure gauge dangling from her hand. Kendall appeared stunned, although she felt her emotions rioting. Her mind scurried to assimilate this shocking twist and how she might use it to her advantage.
The doctor was the first to recover. With a bravado belied by his weak smile, he said, "Well, it seems that the concussion has left our patient with amnesia. This frequently happens.
It's temporary, I'm sure. Nothing to worry about. You'll laugh over it m a day or two."
He turned to Kendall. "For now, you're our only source of information. Guess you'd better tell us and tell him who he is."
She hesitated so long that the moment stretched taut. The doctor and nurse looked at her expectantly. The man in the hospital bed seemed both interested in and wary of her answer.
His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Kendall could tell that, miraculously, he genuinely remembered nothing. Nothing!
This was a blessing unforeseen, an incredibly generous gift of fate. It was almost too good, almost overwhelming, too intricate to handle without having time to prepare. But she knew one thing for certain: She would be a fool not to seize it with both hands.
With remarkable calm, she declared, "He's my husband."
Chapter 1
"By the authority vested in me by Almighty God and the state of South Carolina, I pronounce you husband and wife.
Matthew, you may kiss your bride."
The wedding guests applauded as Matt Burnwood drew Kendall Deaton into his arms. Laughter erupted when his kiss extended beyond a chaste token. He was reluctant to stop.
"That'll have to wait," Kendall whispered against his lips.
"Unfortunately."
Matt gave her a pained look, but, being a good sport, turned to face the several hundred people who had turned out in their Sunday best to attend the affair.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the minister intoned, "may I present, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Burnwood."
Arm in arm, Kendall and Matt faced their smiling guests.
Matt's father was seated alone in the front row. He stood and opened his arms to Kendall.
"Welcome to our family," he said, embracing her. "God sent you to us. We've needed a woman in our family. If Laurelann were alive, she'd love you, Kendall. Just as I do."
Kendall kissed Gibb Burnwood's ruddy cheek. "Thank you, Gibb. That's very sweet of you."
Laurelann Burnwood had passed away when Matt was a youngster, but he and Gibb spoke of her death as though it were recent. The widower cut an impressive figure, with his white crew cut and tall, trim physique. Many widows and divorcees had set their caps for Gibb, but their affections remained unrequited. He'd had his one true love, he Often said. He wasn't looking for another.
Matt placed one arm around his father's broad shoulders'
the other around Kendall. "We needed each other. We're a complete family now."
"I only wish Grandmother could have been here," Kendall remarked sadly.
Matt gave her a sympathetic smile. "I wish she'd felt up to making the trip from Tennessee."
"It would have been too hard on her. She's here in spirit though."
"Let's not get too maudlin," Gibb cut in. "These folks came to eat, drink, and be merry. This is your day. Enjoy it."
Gibb had spared no expense to guarantee that their wedding would be remembered and talked about for years to come.
Kendall had been shocked by his extravagance. Shortly after accepting Matt's proposal, she had suggested that they have a private ceremony, perhaps in a pastor's study.
Gibb wouldn't hear of it.
He held to the tradition of the bride's family financing the wedding and insisted on hosting it himself. Kendall demurred, but Gibb, with his disarming, winning personality, had shot down all her arguments.
"Don't take offense," Matt had told her when she expressed her dismay over Gibbs elaborate plans. "Dad wants to throw a party, the likes of which Prosper has never seen. Since neither you nor your grandmother is financially able to do it, he is pleased to foot the bill. I'm his only child. This is a once-in a-lifetime event for him. So let's give him his head and let him run."
It hadn't taken long for Kendall to be swept up in the excitement. She selected her gown, but Gibb took control of everything else, although he considerately consulted her before any major decisions were finalized.
His strict attention to detail had paid off, because today his house and lawn looked spectacular. Matt and she had exchanged vows beneath a latticed arch bedecked with gardenias, white lilies, and white roses. Inside a large tent was an elaborate buffet of salads, side dishes, and entrees to suit every palate.
The wedding cake was a breathtaking sculpture with several tiers. The creamy frosting was decorated with clusters of fresh rosebuds. There was also a chocolate groom's cake with fudge icing drizzled over strawberries nearly as large as tennis balls.
Magnums of champagne were chilling in tubs of ice. The guests seemed dedicated to drinking every drop of it.
Despite such glamour, the reception was truly a family affair. Children played under the shade trees. After the bride and groom initiated the dancing with a wedding waltz, other couples crowded the floor until everyone was dancing.
It was a fairy tale wedding. Complete with an ogre.
Kendall, unaware of the menace surrounding her, couldn't have imagined being happier. Matt held her close and twirled her about the dance floor. With his tall, slender physique, he seemed made to wear a tuxedo without looking awkward.
